


Collision

by HepG2



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Blackmail, Bottom Tony Stark, Drama, Dubious Consent, Homosexuality, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, On the Run, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sick Tony Stark, Steve Rogers Angst, Tony Stark Has Issues, Top Steve Rogers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HepG2/pseuds/HepG2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU fic. Tony Stark was an Assistant Professor with University of Boston with a lab to run. Or not, if he screwed up on this grant submission and lost the funding. Steve Rogers sat on the grant approval committee. But his primary task had always been seeking out new technologies for the Military to weaponise. One thing led to another, and they found themselves on foreign ground, on the run, hunted by people Steve was somehow familiar with. </p><p>Tony just wanted to go back to teaching and research. Then their worlds collided.</p><p>[23 Aug '17: On a hiatus. For over two years I've been thinking of overhauling this piece (my writing style changed too much). I'm currently working on two trilogies, and when those are done (by mid-next year?) I'll come back to "Collision". I intend to change it into an academia AU to better explore the ups-and-downs of young scientists (the abuse, politics, financial situations from the ranks of postgraduate students to professors). Forgive me for giving up on the original "Collision" story line :( ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opportunity and Leverage

**Author's Note:**

> Hey people! This is an AU fic that strips genius Tony off his silver-spoon-in-the-mouth history and pits him against Steve-not-Captain-America-Rogers whose day job involves reviewing research grant proposals. I know, I know. The general idea is to have the two of them stuck with each other for their own reasons, while knowing full well they don't actually enjoy the companionship. Cue drama. And smut. Enjoy!

The transition from one stage of life to the next differs from one man to another, but there seems to be a pattern that we all fall into. There are levels of priorities, of which the lowest is fulfilment of basic necessities. Food, shelter, clothes. When needs are met, wants come next. People start indulging in games, hobbies, keeping dogs… essentially, things that don’t quite benefit oneself or the community directly but delightful to dabble with. Even these, at a later point, will become unsatisfying. It’s like it’s ingrained in the human’s psyche – to always innovate, improve. Guess this is what it mean, that annoying little phase called quarter life crisis, or middle life crisis if things were moving a bit too slowly in the beginning. People go crazy. People splurge, do the extraordinary, do the _extreme._ Like bungee jumping. Or spelunking.

The transition from one stage of civilisation to the next is remarkably similar. Meeting basic necessities was phase one. People scavenge, hunt before eventually went into farming, raising animals and bartering to meet their needs. Then comes the industrial revolution that sees a parallel expansion in the fields of finance, education, entertainment, more. At long last there is research to push at the boundaries.

Tony Stark lives and breathes research. Science, technology, the works. 

Tony was born on May 29, 1970, scion to the illustrious visionaries Howard and Maria but not quite with a silver spoon in his mouth or any form of privilege one would expect of anyone bearing the name Stark. Flying cars, super soldier making chambers, things people couldn’t even dream of, Howard already had prototypes somewhere in his lab. Hell he was touted to be half the brain behind nuclear bombs. So it wasn’t fair to blame anyone from having ridiculously high expectations of the baby even if it hadn’t been born yet. They talked, speculated that Howard actually wanted a genius son to carry forward his legacy. If the Starks were aware of the chatters behind their backs then they must’ve not cared much for them. After the birth, adulation for what the child (a boy!) could be soured into shadowed concerns. Maria loved the child unconditionally but rumours have it that Howard was a deadbeat dad, always absent from home. If he was present, he was a menace. Some of the hired helps swore they heard things smash and the boy bawled while Howard and Maria tore at each other’s throat, some time for hours at end. 

Perhaps Tony wasn’t all that Howard had hoped for? But those who’d taken it unto themselves to track the affairs of the Stark household noted that Tony himself was a gifted child. The boy could talk before he walked and his flair for inventing shone through at the tender age of four when he built his first circuit board. When Tony was actually old enough to receive formal education, Howard sent him off to a _boarding school._ Tony didn’t think he knew how to change his bedsheets yet. But Stark men had iron in their spines. 

Tony started fending himself when kids his age were still drinking milk from a bottle.

It was difficult being alone the first few time, having to spread butter on his own bread and wash his own shoes. But then it got easier and actually quite enjoyable. He didn’t have to worry about drunk Howard. Dad couldn’t beat him up, scold him, threaten him now that he was out of reach. Contrary to what he’d grown up thinking – because Dad said it whenever he was around – he wasn’t actually useless. His teachers couldn’t stop being amazed at his progress in school and his friends were both envious and astonished of his unique thought process. 

The downside about growing up alone was if he was being an asshole nobody was going to call him out of it.

The days of moping around as a victim of child abuse were behind him; Tony Stark was now every bit haughty, narcissistic and flamboyant like Howard was in his younger days. No equations too difficult to solve, his peers he deemed inferior, and rules were bent like water around him to accommodate his working preference. If he needed to code all night for the simulation to run next day, his teachers wouldn’t mind him skipping first period Biology. If he needed some serious welding done they’d call in an expert to do it while he watched and learned. 

For a while everything was perfect. Until he turned fourteen that is, when his parents were killed in a car crash. There were tears and condolences going around but Tony offered none of those himself. The mourners were an impressive crowd; most of them were pioneers of sub-fields in weapon technology and energy research. They shook Tony’s hands, hugged him, some even promised him assistance if the orphaned teen need any. Tony didn’t linger after the funeral. He had the family’s oldest friend Jarvis handle everything else. Before long the mansion was emptied, furniture all draped in white cloths. Jarvis and Tony bade each other an almost-tearful goodbye. He hadn’t spoken to Jarvis since. Tony relocated to Boston and enrolled himself in MIT’s undergraduate electrical engineering programme the year after. 

Four years later he got out with two master degrees and all the confidence in the world that he would put _Howard’s_ memory in his shadows.

But he was young, inexperienced, and for all the credentials he had he was missing _the_ catalyst for a jackpot – a friend at higher places. There were fellow positions open to him in renowned labs from all over the world but Tony knew he couldn’t bring himself tiptoeing lines and working _for_ others. He had to own his own lab. Now he might be jobless and near penniless, but not completely out of luck. One lonely Christmas he called Howard’s ex-colleague from the military. By his understanding, a powerful man with many strings to pull, favours to ask. They spoke for a full hour; how are you, what are you doing right now, seeing someone, where are you? 

“What do you need, Tony m’boy?”

That was all Tony needed to hear. And by the second week of January 1990, age 20, Tony Stark became Assistant Professor of College of Engineering, Boston University.

* * *

“This is not working…”

Tony crumpled the pre-punched A4 paper he was writing on and tossed it over his shoulders where it joined a pool of its predecessors on the floor. Pen and paper had no place in this futuristic office of his, but when it came to _grant writing_ that was a different ball game all together. Equations, modelling, simulations, Tony had them all pat down. Writing? 

Put it this way, if only he had more time to spare, he would’ve made creating an AI that translates thoughts to writings his _utmost_ priority. 

“Oh would you look at that, it’s two fucking a.m.”

Tony had taken to muttering to himself when it got too quiet in the dead of night. The last of his lab’s employee had gone home so the silence could be deafening. He would’ve blasted Black Sabbath on his speakers – like Monday afternoon last month – but the HOD gave him a nice warning letter to either dial down the volume or risk suspension for being a public nuisance. Now that wouldn’t be nice would it, but hey, come to think of it that wasn’t such a bad idea after all when he thought of his _other_ duties. Teaching duties that is. Rugrats, the lot of them. He could excuse the truancy, screwing around in lectures, even minor plagiarisms for an essay or two. Too much beer over the weekend when an assignment was supposed to be due could do that to you. What he couldn’t forgive however was the overemphasis on passing exams just because. Paper qualifications are cool and all, sure, but Tony could never wrap his head around people who’d do stuff just because it was needed of them. The commitment to seeking approvals. Bull-fucking-shit. 

There was this kid who didn’t bother showing up for a single class and flunked every written test by virtue of not bothering to attend those too but made a wonderful prototype of a hovering skateboard. Then there was another kid whom Tony wouldn’t trust with a soldering iron but had fantastic scores for his finals. Tony gave them both an A+. Honestly if he could have it his way, the only assessment needed for an engineer-in-training would be project-based. Naturally before the start of the next semester, he had to justify his grading system and promised to be less eccentric about it.

Tony learned a lesson that day: even if he owned his own lab, he still had bosses to answer to.

“Probably could’ve earned more bussing tables at Starbucks…”

Which led him back to this issue called grant writing. He didn’t get to keep his job owing to his charming personality, no indeed. His patent on the repulsor technology more or less guaranteed a tenure, but at the end of the day it was just a concept and a half-built big-ass prototype. To finish it he would need money, and money comes from stakeholders. If people didn’t believe in what he was doing, he might as well cast the ideas in cement and dump it in Charles River. 

There was a call for grant from the NIH. When Tony saw the e-mail he jumped in glee and pumped a fist in the air because hallelujah, his lifeline! His pre-existing grants were expiring and his other applications had all been rejected on the grounds of “too risky, we can’t fund this”. Second lesson learned: if he wanted to win this game he needed to play by its rules. That meant occasionally dumbing down an idea to meet the requirements of the grant committee.

Oh no no, that would not do. If he was going to start playing ball he might as well start now. How about: his research is going to be funded partly by the people of this good country, so the findings of the study should benefit the populace as a whole, and that also means he has the responsibility to study relevant problems suited to the mass’ interest, not his per se.

There, that wasn’t so bad. Push had come to shove. He needed the money now because otherwise these entail: no students, no staff, no papers, not meeting bottom lines, and the proverbial boot from his academic position. If he needed to divert his interest temporarily he should. He could always carry out his own projects in parallel. Yep, sounds like a plan.

Tony tore and balled the paper before him and tossed it again over his shoulders. Tomorrow would be different, he promised. Tomorrow, a new war.

* * *

“Oh shit, shit, shit.”

If the first word of the day was a cuss, what does that tell about the general quality of his life? Tony slowly pushed himself up from the couch he installed in the darker corner of his office, right behind a tall bookcase. He had the blinds down so the whole place didn’t look like it was late morning as it actually were. But it was Saturday, so there was a slight chance he could get away skulking around the faculty in two-day-old clothes packing a morning breath. 

Coffee! His philosopher’s stone, his elixir of life. Tony swiped his wallet off his table and stalked out of his office.

From his Casio he learned it was eleven in the morning. So he had roughly six days to go towards the due date for that NIH grant submission. Deciding to save time by skipping lunch, Tony ducked into the cafeteria instead of perusing the vending machine just outside the block. He was walking behind two girls (must be undergraduates) teetering under the weight of what looks like two big boxes of _something heavy_ so Tony graciously sped forward and held the door open for them. He gave them a huge grin but only received a muffled thanks, the boxes blocking their faces. 

“Mr Stark?”

When the currently-giggling-totem-poles finally entered the cafeteria Tony now noticed a tall man behind them. He wore an easy smile on his lips and an upright, almost soldierly posture as he regarded Tony from afar. Tony thought he’d seen this person before but couldn’t quite place where and when. He shook the hand that was proffered to him.

The man’s smile widened. “IMECE, 1998.”

Tony almost smacked his forehead. “Steve Rogers. Oh God, I’m so sorry for that.”

International Mechanical Engineering Congress and Exposition, or IMECE is the largest interdisciplinary conference of its namesake’s field. Organised by the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (ASME) it’s the melting pot for stakeholders and partners alike from academia, labs, industry and funding bodies. Tony made it a point to attend it every year, hoping to forge a network with like-minded scientists. Steve was among those he’d traded hello’s and name cards with. When he learned that Steve was actually with the Army, he couldn’t help but drag the man to an adjacent stand-up bar table and asked quite blatantly why would the Army be interested in a bunch of nerds geeking over their machines?

Tony knew opportunity and leverage when they come a-knocking. This was opportunity. Most of the time he couldn’t be bothered seizing it especially if it involved putting himself at the bottom of a new pecking order. This one though was money ‘cause he knew how invested the government was in defence research. He’d let Steve know of the patented repulsor technology and for a glorious minute it looked like the talk was actually going somewhere, until Tony admitted it was still in the prototype stage. That conference was the last he’d heard of Steve, until now of course, under a blistering summer sun.

“Care to join me for brunch?” Steve invited. Tony held the door wider and urged the other to go on. 

“Glad to.”

In between mouthfuls of meatball spaghetti and vegetarian lasagne, Tony furtively studied the sharp features of the man now seated opposite him. He’d better remember it all; the way short stray strands of hair fall carelessly over the fair forehead, his straight, long nose that perched above slightly pale thin lips, and handsome cheekbones that completed the wholesome, all-American look. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Steve suddenly asked, catching Tony watching him a second too long. He dabbed a paper napkin at his chin anyway when Tony shook his head slightly. Nope, he was just committing those features to a longer term memory so the next time he walked into Steve Rogers, he wouldn’t forget to match that name with this face.

“How’s your lab doing?”

“Honestly, not so good. We have some cool ideas to test but we’re exhausting our funding for this year. We’ve submitted a couple of proposals but none made it through the first round of review.”

“How come? Too high risk?”

“What they said.”

“Mm. How long have you been working here?”

“Nine and a half years. Time flies.”

“Tenured?”

“Not if I keep getting trouble securing funding.”

Their cups of coffee were delivered and Tony took a moment to thank the waitress and asked how her day was so far. Tony wasn’t sure when the rumour started saying that he was an arrogant schmuck but he’d beg to differ. See, he liked to think that he had only utmost respect for people working in the service industry because no one deserved so much deprecation on a job that paid minimal wage. 

“What are you doing about it?” Steve finally got to asking as he sipped his steaming hot coffee.

“About what?”

“Securing funding.”

“There’s a call for grant application from the NIH. I know, it’s vastly different from what I’m used to doing. But first I need to modify the repulsor technology, miniaturise it so I can mount it comfortably on another person’s body. Then we’ll think about translating it into cardiac-related therapies.”

“Really? I thought the repulsor tech is pure destructive forces.”

“The repulsor tech is pure _energy_. Think nuclear, but without the radiation issue. We can start with something safe, something rather meat-and-potato, like using it to energise pacemakers. Never gonna need recharge or change of batteries.”

Tony blew the steam off his coffee and downed half of it in two gulps. “You seem comfortable talking about these nerdy things. I thought you serve in the Army? Or are you in the academic line already? Is that why I bump into you here on a Saturday morning, of all places?”

“I’m still with the Army. But I’m also involved in talent scouting on their behalf.”

“So that’s why you attend conferences.”

Steve tilted his head in agreement before going back to take a deep sip from his cup. 

“Doesn’t explain why you’re in a friggin’ university campus on a Saturday though.”

“I just happen to be in the area actually. I got hungry so I stopped by for a bit.”

“Sniffing up another lab to collaborate with in the future?” Tony pushed, trying his luck. 

“No, this visit is personal.”

As Steve inclined forward to chomp onto his spoonful of lasagne something reflected sunlight and glimmered. Tony thought he saw the faint outline of a ring hanging by a thin chain that Steve wore around his neck. If Tony scooted a bit to his left – which he did by pretending he needed that salt shaker – he could also glimpse upon a pair of dog tags half-enveloped by black rubber silencers. The ring peeked into view again from the opening of Steve’s collar. 

When brunch was done Tony offered to settle the bill as an apology for not recognising Steve just now. Then Tony walked Steve out to a black sedan parked by the curb just outside of the main entrance. 

“D’you need a ride somewhere? I’ve got time,” Steve offered, unlocking the car with a _beep._

“Nah. Got to get back to writing.”

“Is it due soon?”

“In six days.”

“Good luck then, Mr Stark.”

“Just Tony is fine. We’ll catch up later.”

Tony stood where he was, watching the rear of the black car shrink as it merged with traffic on the main road. Brunch was fun while it lasted. Tony couldn’t dismiss the plunging disappointment in his guts now that Steve gone. If he’d pitched his proposal better maybe he’d have piqued some interest? But after all was said and done, if the Army wasn’t interested in the repulsor technology in the first place, they wouldn’t bate another eyelash even if he could miniaturise it. And that was a very big if. Damn, even he felt the science was getting a little bit far-fetched for the season.

* * *

“This is not working…”

It was eleven at night and Tony found himself hunched over chicken scratches on his pre-punched A4 notepad, like many other nights before this. He scrunched his eyes and stretched his arms as far as they could go. By dinner he still couldn’t reconcile the weakest link of his plan of action; to qualify for the NIH grant he would need to prove that the mini-repulsor tech was already up and running, which was more of a work of fiction than truth. And if the repulsor tech was still the size of a shoe rack, how could he convince people that sticking it to their chest would be good for their pacemakers?

This would be the part where he groan in frustration, wonder why he voluntarily subject himself to shit like this when all he wanted to do was science, and where was that research assistant again because he really needed to scream at someone. 

“Professor?”

“Ow dammit!”

Tony jumped, knocked his elbow gloriously against the side of his hair at that _very_ spot that sent a shot of agony it practically numbed half of his body. That effectively reduced him to a mewing mess rocking in his seat, forehead as crumpled as the paper sheets on the floor behind him. 

“I’m so sorry! I knocked twice but you didn’t answer so –”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Tony replied impatiently as he waved his hand (the one that didn’t feel like it had just been administered LA) flippantly. “What is it?”

“Uh, I’m leaving now, so I’ll see you again on Monday?”

“Yeah, sure. By the way, how was the simulation for that flapping wing you designed?”

James Simpson was a talented post-graduate student who dressed simply and spoke bluntly but showcased impressive intellectual finesse, a quality that was getting scarcer by the day. His passion for science came in equal portion as his obstinacy’s which more often than not culminated into a screaming fest between superior and subordinate behind the privacy of this office’s closed door. 

Tonight’s impromptu discussion was short and direct. Simpson left the block fifteen minutes later, leaving Tony to nurse his half-written notepad. When the first paragraph didn’t look like legible words anymore Tony took the hint that he was done for the day.

 

Kent Street at midnight was like a no man’s land. Knowing perfectly well that no HODs were going to dish him a red card for playing his music too loudly he did exactly that, AC/DC blasting through the car’s stereo. As he took the right hand turn, passing by a row of single-storeyed shops the _boom boom boom_ of the bass somehow died in his ears when he picked up the familiar wholesome, all-American profile of Steve Rogers, whose silhouette had just disappeared behind a heavily tinted glass door that was flanked by bouncers twice his size.

What Steve was doing here was none of his business and it just wasn’t his MO to snoop around people’s privacy but Tony just threw caution to the wind and rolled his car to a stop at an empty spot on the opposite side of the road. 

The bouncers didn’t stop him from entering so he marched forward with faked gusto like he’d done this many times before. But once inside he was hopelessly lost; the disco music was too loud, the disco lights were too glaring, the disco _everything_ was honestly, too damn distracting. There was however no Steve in sight. He craned his neck further, this time surveying the back of the dancing floor when a young man with multiple ear piercings and dirty blonde hair tapped on his shoulders.

“Hey sexy! Looking for someone?”

Right. 

“I’m looking for a guy, he’s a friend of mine…”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, buddy.”

Tony clicked his tongue impatiently and started looking around him again. Now that the music had ended and the crowd on the dancing floor began to thin out, it was easier to notice things. Like the pair of muscular hunks who were clearly invading each other’s personal place? And that other pair of dudes that were staring at each other so intensely with their hands intertwined between them? Or that _other_ pair who were currently canoodling the heck out of each other beside that potted plant?

This was a gay bar? Tony felt steam coming out of his head.

“Uh, this tall,” he raised a hand to about two inches above his head, “blonde, handsome. His name is Steve. I just saw him walk through the door seconds ago.”

“Yeah, I know Steve,” the guy drawled, scratching the sparse stubbles on his chin. “But what’s that got to do with ya?”

“Look, Steve is actually dating my sister.” Smooth, Tony. Keep talking like that and the game is in the bag. “I don’t know what he’s doing here – no offense, looks like a pretty awesome place – but big bro has to watch out for lil sis, you know what I mean?”

The guy seemed to consider Tony’s words. He took one long, obvious sweep from the top of Tony’s head to the tip of his running shoes, sizing him up. 

“Well, too bad, I don’t speak to no one but customers. Have a good day.”

“No no, wait!”

Tony seized him by the elbow, halting him from taking another step towards the door. 

“OK, customers, right?”

“No one but customers.”

“OK. I understand. Uh, how about,” Tony fished out his wallet and sifted through a couple of notes, “A hundred dollars, and you tell me all you know about Steve.”

“For this price, baby? I can do more.” The man started leaning in and Tony’s throat constricted. He turned instinctively to the door but an arm shot past him, crossing his path.

“Whoa! OK, buddy! I’m not paying you to do anything, OK? I just want some information.”

“I’m not passing up a sweet piece of white ass when it comes rolling into my turf first.”

Tony could feel his brain melt and ooze out of his ears. He backed up further into the wall and swallowed thickly. “All right. What you gonna do?”

“I can blow you to next Sunday.”

He steered Tony into a small room just around the corner and locked the door behind him. The din from the main area now a mere echo and Tony gulped, seriously regretting coming into this stupid establishment in the first place. The man’s leering face inched closer that Tony promptly turned away in shock. He seized the opening, latched onto the side of Tony’s neck, suckling at the jugular that was already pounding in mild panic. The lewd licks alternated with more suckling and Tony hoped that wasn’t going to leave marks because he hated wearing turtlenecks to work. When cold, dank air hit his chest Tony was mildly aware that the man had deftly popped the first three buttons on his dress shirt. His large hand splayed against Tony’s chest.

He laughed darkly. “Nice tat, buddy.”

Tony took several shaky breaths. That was worse than having a hungry Labrador tasting his neck like prime sirloin steak. The man’s cold hand slipped past the side of his shirt that was now hanging loosely, resting directly over his heart, over a tattoo in the shape of a perfect circle with a triangle within it. He got it back when he was still in MIT inebriated to the point of near alcohol poisoning. Those degenerates he used to hang out with dared him to get his chest inked and Tony, desperate to keep his companions around didn’t feel like wussing out. 

“Oh, calm down your palpitating heart.”

“Stop _touching_ –”

A callous thumb circled his left areola, a gentle motion, before it brushed over the tip of his nipple. That contact was immediately gone and Tony only realised he’d socked the guy square in the jaws. He rubbed at the sore spot gingerly, all the while glaring at the scientist like a starving hyena.

“You’re lucky I like my meat feisty.”

He came in again, his mouth hovering ridiculously close to Tony’s. 

“You’re doing this for Steve, remember?”

Then he kissed Tony hard, teeth on teeth, and his hand resumed fondling the exposed chest. Tony didn’t resist, and when a cruel hand squeezed the sides of his jaw, he relented; his lips parted and the man took full advantage of it, swirling his tongue around the warm cavern. When they broke off, a string of saliva between them, the man smirked and quipped almost breathlessly, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Fuck you.”

“Heh, pleasant as it sound,” Tony felt a tugging around his waistband and realised his belt was being unbuckled. “I’ve something else in mind right now.”

He groped the front of Tony’s crotch. The scientist bucked against it, dull pleasure rising from the centre of his gut. Oh God he hadn’t exactly the occasion to “ease himself” so if he couldn’t be more crass he’d say his “package” is chock-full of little soldiers waiting for the D-day drop.

When the guy got to his knee and took Tony in whole…

There’s got to be a good reason why he wasn’t gutting the prick and busting himself out right now. One stupid reason – just one _fucking_ reason why he had a man caressing his balls, loving his dick with a tongue so agile it alternated between kissing and sucking the tip to pumping the length of it. The sensation was mind-blowing and Tony found himself softly gasping for breaths as the all-familiar tension wound tighter inside him. 

“Stop… stop, please.”

“Hmm?”

The vibration of the man’s cheeks against his sensitive flesh pushed him further to the edge. Tony’s head thudded resoundingly against the wall as he leaned back.

“I’m close,” he managed to choke out. So close indeed, he had to take measured gulps of air to pace himself. Shit shit shit…

“Then don’t hold back, baby.”

It could be the way he growled that foul bit of encouragement, or the way he grabbed Tony’s ass, or the way he _sucked_ , or even a combination of all, Tony didn’t know as a torrent of sheer pleasure shot through him like electricity. He thrusted his hips deeper into the waiting mouth, loading it with all he got as he rode the waves of the aftermath. The man held him fast by the waist, kept him upright against the wall. 

When Tony felt like he wasn’t imploding anymore, he quickly pulled his pants up and fastened the belt around him, his face flushed with shame. 

“You certainly didn’t hold back,” the man chuckled, flicking a stray dribble of cum from his chin. “That was quite a show.”

“Shut up. Not a word, you hear me?”

He held both hands in the air, resting his case. 

“Steve. Why is he here and who is he meeting.”

“Why he’s here is pretty obvious, don’t you think? I mean, people don’t come here just to play pools. As for _who_ he’s meeting, it’s got to be Bucky. Well, when he was still Bucky, if you know what I mean.” Tony shook his head lamely, and the man sighed. “Strippers don’t go around with their real name. Bucky is a stage name.”

“What’s his real name?”

“James Barnes. But he quit this place several months ago. Just left without a note. Guess Steve didn’t get it either because he’s been dropping by, asking around, but mostly waiting.”

Tony knew opportunity and leverage when they come a-knocking. This one was leverage, and he sure as hell ain’t letting it go.


	2. Suspect and Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is spinning out of control. Characters' motivations are digressing from the initial draft. This is gonna be interesting (and weird?) for all of us :) I hope.

Tick tock, Tony… four days to go before that door of opportunity slam shut. Reason why the very stubbly, very grumpy and very sleep-deprived scientist found himself waking up yet another time in that blasted corner behind his bookcase. He yanked the jacket draping over his shoulders and sat up. Pins and needles attacked his extremities where they were squashed mercilessly into the back of the couch. The clock said he'd rested enough for the day – four hours total.

The pile of scrunched up paper on the floor was growing into a ball pit and he was still nowhere close to writing a grant proposal convincing enough for those geezers know-it-all to sponsor the study. As the hour hand drew closer to his date line, his confidence wavered, not able to believe that he could shoehorn the miniaturised repulsor tech into a pacemaker and sell it to the NIH. On paper it was a grand concept, elegant and entirely novel. Surely on principle alone that was worth investigating? But it was still a bit mindboggling of a concept… and round and round the internal monologue went as he toiled over papers and coffee cups. 

All these would’ve been way easier if he was capable of self-funding, but he wasn’t born rich, so tough.

Tony stifled a yawn and crawled out of his den of despair. He reached for his wallet and walked out of his room, only to almost run into a poor undergraduate who was jogging down the corridor. 

Undergrads in school? Was it Monday already?

Tony doubled back to his office and scooped up the toiletries he'd squirreled away precisely for moments when he’d slaved over the weekend and forgot the week had rewound itself back to Monday. Moments like this. Undergraduates aside, social visits from anyone were just as unappreciated! Least of all the HOD himself who might just stroll in out of the blue and yap about some keystone conferences or another extraordinary Science paper, just accepted. He did that five times last semester. Well if he did it now, his funeral then because Tony was already entertaining the idea of gaping his cakehole wide and _exhaled_. As he bowed over a small sink near the cot of misery, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, his office door creaked open. 

Monday, see? And the blues was walking in. Only it wasn’t the balding unsightly man he liked to call “Boss”. This was worse. Steve Rogers in the flesh. Tony spluttered over toothpaste and washed himself off as quickly as he could without splashing water all over the floor.

“Tony? Is this a bad time?” Steve hesitated, looking at the flustered scientist as he dabbed at his chin with a towel conjured from thin air.

“Nope, it’s fine! It’s cool. Here, let me put this somewhere else,” Tony lifted a stack of papers from a wooden chair and placed it on top of a cabinet. “Have a seat. Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thanks. Just had breakfast.”

“OK. I’m making myself a cup, if you don’t mind.”

Tony turned his back against his visitor. He busied himself with boiling water and emptying a sachet of pre-mixed coffee powder into a mug he vaguely remembered washing the day before. There was an ominous crinkle of paper, an envelope being opened and Steve spoke plainly, “I think this will interest you.”

Tony hummed into his steaming mug. He reached for the documents proffered and glanced at the headings, and promptly raised an eyebrow at Steve who merely nodded, urging him to read on. Tony finished the first page, and the next, and lowered the papers to his lap. His mind reeled in both excitement and wariness, no longer registering the foam layer that was wearing too thin for comfort under his bum.

“An e-mail for this will suffice, but the fact that you’re here handing this to me in person means –”

“– that it’s not exactly open tender, but is only circulated within a specific group, yes.”

“Then this is illegal,” Tony bristled, immediately regretting that he did. He slipped the papers back into the envelope, the words printed in bold that said “GRANT CALLS” disappeared from view. The sum of money offered was written somewhere on the second page and Tony almost salivated at the figures. Not fifteen minutes ago he was so desperate for a lifeline, _any_ kind of lifeline, and when it finally presented itself, he turned his nose up and his head around. Stupid, stupid move.

“The DOD likes their secrecies. And before you say no, I assure you there is nothing illegal about it.” Steve leaned forward, his forearm now resting on the table. “I can recommend you for consideration. As I’ve said before, the repulsor tech sounds promising. I’ll admit it can be a bit too adventurous for their appetite. They do believe more in bullets and fires after all. But I know you can modify it into a more… straightforward offensive mechanism.”

“You want me to weaponise the repulsor tech?”

“I’m not suggesting you to do anything at all. I’m here to offer you an opportunity. What you decide to do with it is up to you.”

Tony stared blankly at Steve who was again, wearing that small smile of his. There was a hint of fondness this time, and he continued, his voice light and friendly, “You know, I wasn’t expecting you to be so against the idea of working around a system. You seem more like a screw-the-rules, bottom line kind of guy.”

That, Tony couldn’t answer. He was suddenly made aware of the fact that Steve, this upstanding military man before him, could be dating another male from a stripper club and he'd intended to keep that information in view as leverage. That was blackmailing, plain and straight. For that one ridiculous hour in the club, he had seriously considered using that moment of privacy against Steve to win favours in the future. Guilt, and most definitely shame, clawed at his heart and he swiftly averted his eyes to a textbook on his table.

“How would you know? You barely know me.”

“The few others I offered the same deal to re-read the fine prints to see if there was a way to work around it.” He chuckled before rising to his feet. “It's a vicious world out there. Congested. People just got to do what they got to do to survive.”

Tony huffed at that. “The dark side does get alluring after a while.”

“Well, you’re doing OK.”

Steve was already at the door when Tony managed to untangle his vocal cord and call out. He waved the envelope limply in the air. “I really don’t deserve this.”

“I insist you keep that. We’ll be looking forward to your proposal.”

Steve’s visit though brief left a bitter aftertaste that quelled Tony’s ravenous appetite for breakfast. He drained his lukewarm cup of coffee and sat in his chair again. The scribbles on the notepad from yesterday still didn’t look like it make much sense, but between completing that NIH proposal and taking up on Steve’s offer, the choice was clear. 

Tony went back to work, the envelope forgotten, hidden behind a tray of papers.

* * *

By seven Tony’s stomach started rumbling that it actually kind of hurt, like little knives slicing through him. Suck it up, he scolded himself. If he poured his entire focus onto his half-finished proposal he would be able to ignore it. Research is after all for the masochists. But it was indeed time for dinner, and he was eager for a break, so he pushed away the book he was perusing and grabbed his wallet and car keys.

He drove past Kent Street. Had a hankering for a nice shepherd pie and his usual go juice, the blackest he could get. There was a nice homely café at the end of the street that served the best of just that. Tony was positively restraining himself from going over the speed limit just thinking about a warm, proper meal when he unavoidably drove past the stripper club he’d had the misfortune of visiting that fateful night. His neck tensed, his grip on the steering wheel tightened and he purposely kept his gaze steeled on the road ahead. 

That still didn’t stop him from noticing the golden headed, tall and handsome Steve Rogers jostling his way through the club’s door. He appeared distressed; the bouncers were holding him off, likely refusing him entry. Tony drove on. Wasn’t his circus any more.

The next two days came and went in a flurry. Tony hadn’t gone home. He’d chosen to camp out in his office trying to perfect the proposal. There were take-out boxes brimming in the wastebasket and paper cups with coffee dregs at the bottom on top of every piece of furniture he owned. Writing had always been hard, but never _this_ hard, and never for such a peculiar reason. Every now and then he found his mind flittering to a certain military man, and when he checked the time and realised he’d spent fifteen minutes in idleness he’d reigned his thoughts in, only to lose them again a minute later.

Tony couldn’t even put a finger on why Steve commanded such an effect on him. The closest to an answer was how intriguing he found the entire mess was; an upstanding soldier with a blossoming career getting all tied down to a missing stripper, underline male. But this wasn’t the 40’s. Nobody as much as _looked_ at men whoring themselves out, what more fucking each other? Tony wasn’t going to judge, but that didn’t mean he endorse it. Still, spying around people’s bedroom was never a favourite past time. So if he didn’t care for the drama, then why the morbid fascination with Steve? Or maybe Tony found it perplexing that someone could fall so hard for a no-name that he kept pounding on his door. Hell at this point any excuse was as good as others.

Tony had never loved people like that before. Not Mom, definitely not Dad. And there was no one else.

He popped a couple of antacids and swallowed them with the help of coffee. Before he knew it, he was already marching to the parking bay, his car keys jingling in his pocket.

* * *

This time he parked his car one block away from the club and covered the rest of the distance on foot. Unlike the last visit, the bouncers didn't drill holes into his cranium with their eyes. So he rewarded them with a phony grin and a diva wave as he admitted himself into the establishment. Loud music consisting of just bass that went _boom, boom, boom_ wash over him. At least that didn’t change. He made a beeline for the bar, claimed a solitary seat at the farthest corner where he could scope out the place yet remain somewhat concealed himself.

He nursed his drink in silence, his eyes watchful when someone slapped his shoulders so hard he almost topple off his stool.

“Hey babe, just can’t stay away, can ya?”

“Oh God.” Tony’s heart squeezed as he subconsciously edged away from _that_ man. Memories from before hit him in full blow and he almost took off on the basis of self-preservation.

“Not quite there yet, but if you say so.”

“Stay away.” Tony held out a hand in warning and manoeuvred the stool to stand purposefully between them. The leering man was all teeth. “Look, I’m not looking for trouble, OK? Just swinging by.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cause Bucky came back and he’s with Steve in the back room. Got your attention now, don’t I?”

Tony’s bewildered look said it all. What was even more stupefying was how little it took to persuade him to go to said room. As soon as the door closed behind them he knew it was trouble; a sinking realisation that was a tad too late. Like a venus fly trap and the unsuspecting fly. It wasn’t anger that he felt for being tricked again or disappointment at not seeing Steve or Bucky as promised, but fear unadulterated. The man advanced on him and Tony found his body cocked for a fight-or-flight. Stupid, stupid move.

“Would you stop looking like I’m about to pounce and rape you each time we’re alone?”

Tony said nothing, adrenaline pumping in his ears. His eyes darted to the baseball bat leaning against the wall. The man seemed to follow that, so he threw his hands up in the air.

“I don’t mean you harm, all right. Is it my face or something? I don’t always do bad things for kicks, you know.”

Tony swallowed. If he got a clear shot at the door he was going to make a break for it.

Heavy sets of footsteps shuffled outside of the room and before he could decide whether to wuss out and scream for help, he was already grabbed by the arms and bodily shoved into a ridiculously large, metal cupboard that wasn’t exactly meant to hold two full-grown adults. 

“Shut up.”

A callous hand clasped over Tony’s mouth. He obeyed, and they both kept still despite the sheer awkwardness of being in close quarters, spare clothes hangers jostling the side of their heads. The door eventually swung open and Steve walked through it with an equally tall man Tony didn’t recognise hot on his heels. The tension in the atmosphere was unbearable as Steve slammed the door shut, effectively blocking out the chaos from the dance floor. 

“All right. Privacy, like you asked,” Steve growled. He gestured largely at the room as the second man took to pacing around it. “Your turn, Bucky. Explain.”

Tony, trying very hard to ignore an itch that was creeping up his nose, managed to arrange his left leg in a less bone-breaking angle. He didn't squeak either when he found himself half-crouched between another pair of legs. A thin chest was flushed against his back, motionless if not for the occasional intake of air. If the other man was equally uncomfortable in his strained position he didn't grumble. The man called Bucky turned to face Steve and regarded the carpet mutedly. After what felt like eons of hesitation, Tony heard him say quietly, “We’re done here, Steve. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what? Meet up in secret? Keep our affairs behind locked doors?” Bucky gave out a short laughter, hollow and bitter. Steve pressed on heatedly, “Because I’ve said it in the beginning. I’m ready to go public with this. Us.”

“I’m not ashamed of the nature of our relationship! I’m sorry, Steve, but some cool down time will be good for us both.”

“Why? What is broken here? We can fix it together.”

Through the narrow vents of the cupboard Tony could see Bucky take tentative steps towards Steve, closing the distance between them. There was an obvious droop to his shoulders, like remorse weighing crushingly upon him.

“I’m sorry for who I am. Can’t you see? What I do for living, who you are? We can’t go out together like this.”

“Yeah, the fact that you spread your legs for money cheapens our relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“It’s the fucking truth!” 

Then there was a near-skull-cracking-loud thud when Bucky collided brusquely with the wall as Steve shove him against it. If this was going to court under the pretext of assault Tony was going to close his eyes right now. That man - whose boner was poking into Tony's spine - could stand witness instead.

“What do you take me for, huh? Another bastard no different from those who throw money your way so they could take you to their beds?”

“I never said that.”

“You damn well did. The second you lower yourself to your job when you’re with me made me nothing more than a customer.”

“No. Don’t say that, Steve.”

“Then tell me what is wrong so we can fix this! No more hiding, no more running. Come home.”

“I _can’t_. Shut up, listen. I want to leave this industry for good. Go away, start over. Maybe go back to college, get that degree. Decide who I can be, who I really am.”

“You don’t have to go it alone.”

“I do. Steve, you are the predominant reason for this life-changing decision. You have been nothing but good to me, and I realise I can’t give you anything back in return – I know you don’t care, just shut up for a sec and listen. If we’re going to be serious about this, it’s not gonna work on just pheromones. And if you truly understand this, you’ll let me go now.”

Steve eased his vice grips on Bucky’s arms and leaned his forehead gently against the other’s.

“Why is it always so complicated with you?”

After which there were no conversations anymore. They embraced, at first chaste, relieved that the discord was behind them. There was another thud on the wall, much gentler this one when Bucky somehow swapped places with Steve, the soldier now pinned between him and the bricks. Then they kissed, soft and rueful, before wanton desires took over and their lips battled for dominance. Bucky ground his hips against Steve’s, pressing the needing form deeper into the walls as he latched his mouth hungrily over Steve’s jawline.

Tony’s own heart raced in his ribcages but given current circumstances, this was _very_ justified, and mind, he wasn’t thinking about freebie-real-time-man-on-man porno. Which was unlike videos that he could X away and leave them the hell alone. No, Tony Stark wasn’t going to get his peeping freak up by voyeur-ing around. But he wasn’t exactly free to walk right out of the cupboard, head for the door and be on his merry way home, was he? “Sorry to interrupt, you guys go ahead, ignore me, I’m just passing by.” Never in his life had he wanted so much to blink away and pull a duvet over his head – save for that horrible PhD viva from that one candidate who thought he could get away with attention-grabbing but otherwise dubious data.

Steve gritted out a strangled moan and Tony chanced another peep from the cupboard again, against all sense of decency. Bucky was kneeling on the floor, his head now at waist-level, bobbing back and forth in earnest doing the obvious. From this angle there wasn’t a clear view of what was going on, but Tony’s imaginative capacity was expansive.

And suddenly he felt a pair of arms snaking around his body. He’d completely forgotten the existence of that creep of a man he was sharing the cupboard with and almost yelped in surprise at the physical contact. 

The other man hissed into his ears, “Shut up, or else.”

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Tony dared to ask, digging an elbow soundlessly into random flesh to loosen the hold.

The click of his belt becoming undone resonated in the suffocating space. Next to follow was the sound of his zipper pulled down. A large, warm hand splayed over his crotch. Tony froze, his hands shot to his mouth to kill any sounds that threatened to escape. 

The dextrous pair of hands swiftly lowered the boxer that it pooled at mid-thigh and they closed firmly around Tony’s dick. Flaccid, but he quickly worked it to full rigidity with several pumps along the length. It only took Tony a full minute to realise the man was stroking him at the same pace as Bucky was blowing Steve, the rhythm of the hand and the bobbing head mirroring each other perfectly. When it was starting to feel _good_ , the man instinctively rolled the tip of his dick between a thick thumb and forefinger, massaging the bulge. Whatever fluid that was leaking out of Tony the man made good use of, smearing it over the length and returned to pumping it again. 

Steve himself was lost in his own abyss of pleasure, his long fingers entangled in Bucky’s dark hair. As the soldier’s breaths quickened, Tony closed his eyes, relishing the sensation as friction gave rise to the familiar pressure that was tightening in the depth of his gut. A handjob was a handjob. Man or woman didn’t really matter. Steve seemed to be at his limit and Bucky actually took the thing out of his mouth and said, “Give it all to me, Steve.”

Tony shoved his fist deeper into his mouth, stifling the little moans that was threatening to spill over. The man whispered in his ear, “Don’t hold back now, baby,” and pumped his dick in longer, more deliberate strokes. Tony gasped as his head slammed back into the man’s shoulders, his waist jerking in spasm. It gushed over him before he could pace himself and he lost his grip on the cupboard that he could feel himself slipping, if not for a steady arm wrapped around his torso. The hand down there continued to milk him for more, slowly, that it began to hurt as it got too sensitive to touches. Tony almost gave in to his collapsing knees but the man took on his weight, pulling the panting scientist into his chest.

Outside, Steve and Bucky were both on the floor, basking in each other’s company. Somehow this felt even more intimate and private than the rest of the scene Tony had just witnessed. 

“Can I at least stay with you until you’ve finalised your plan?”

Steve fixed his belt, flattened the sides of his pants and proffered a hand to Bucky. He took it and pulled himself up so they both were again on their feet. Tony did the same to his belt and pants and resisted the urge to punch the other man for pulling that stupid stunt. For all that had happened, he was extremely relieved that neither Steve nor Bucky had heard the rattle in the cupboard.

“Yeah. I’m still stuck at the paperwork part. Application forms, homes for rent. Should probably be done by the end of this month?”

“Sure I can’t come along?”

They embraced again. There was a briefest hint of hurt etched in the lines of Steve’s visage but it was gone when Bucky said, “You have an amazing thing going on for your career here. I’m not gonna let you throw all that away for me. Let me do this. And when I’m ready, let me come back to you.” 

Steve nodded into Bucky’s shoulders. 

Their voices trailed away and Tony caught words like “Skype” and “Facebook” and “keep in touch” before Steve held the door open and flooded the room with thrash metal from the dancing floor. When it was silent again, Tony still didn’t dare to move. 

“Show’s over, you gonna camp in here all night or what?”

“Shut up.”

Shakily, Tony kicked the door open and clambered out of the cupboard. The other man got out with more grace and began searching for a tissue box. That was after smugly parading his hand that sported trails of Tony’s cum. Tony merely glared at him in disdain. The man snorted, probably expecting more of a fight back. He balled the soiled tissue and tossed it neatly into a waste basket.

“G’night, sexy.”

Then he too, exited the room. 

Tony abruptly sank to his knees and dug the heel of his palms into his eyes. Good God, all he wanted was a pie and coffee...

* * *

Tony woke up feeling worse for wear. He actually turned the alarm off by waiting it out – it shuts up automatically after five minutes of undisturbed blaring. One annoyance down, one thousand more to go. He nursed his prickly stomach with two more antacids downed with the help of fresh milk and the lingering acridity on his tongue reminded him he hadn’t brushed his teeth. 

He was just two days down to the grant submission dateline. Good progress had been made the last week and as with all things coming to an end, the only thing left to do was to pray, but Tony wasn’t the praying type, so he figured he was just going to click “Submit” and get himself drunk. The thing about research, see, no matter how noble and futuristic it was made to believe, was just like everything else in the world – money maketh shit happen. Tony would bet two months’ worth of salary (a paltry amount, if anyone was asking) that his proposal was only going to be considered, debated, and then _bargained_ with. “We can’t give you the full worth of the grant, how about one tenth of it?”

And Tony had learned it the hard way that scientists wasn’t the occupational solution to a simple question of intelligence plus curiosity. It was a partial differential equation with networking, office politicking, lip services and showmanship all thrown into a salad bowl. It wouldn’t take long for even Tony Stark to turn out the cynical AP he was today. He sometimes wondered if Howard had to go through the same muck as well. 

Anyway, home was long ago. Now he got a job to do.

After one departmental meeting, one tutorial class, two brief discussions with a postgrad student and a colleague (who just wanted to borrow a screwdriver) it was late evening. Now it was just Tony and the proposal. Just needed a wee bit of tweaking, and voila, booze and booze all night.

Another fun fact he learned from all the years he’d been in research: nothing ever goes according to plan. _Nothing_. Honestly, how many proposals had he written that’d gone completely right from Step 1 to Step 10? Proposals didn’t have detours. The possibility of hitting a wrong hypothesis (usually this presents itself in the plural form) was nigh unimaginable. And don't mention plain ol’ unexpected crap. Like getting sniped by an assassin on the way to work or kidnapped by terrorists. 

Far-fetched? 

Real world kind of works like that too, Tony liked to think. Take today for example, he’d planned on fine-tuning his proposal and submitting it tonight (or latest, tomorrow morning). Then he wanted to go drink himself silly, drown the misery in alcohol and baked buffalo wings. Naturally when he logged into his e-mail service provider there was one notice sitting there saying “KPI appraisal: document submission by Mar 1”, bolded and flagged.

Steve’s letter got to be around here somewhere, he thought rabidly, swapping papers from his table as he hunted for that brown envelope. KPI appraisal didn’t use to mean much to him when he first started out. They were heck of a useful set of guidelines but much leeway was given to him solely on the basis of junior-ness. He had some close shaves along the years but hey, even the sweetest young thing would age. 

He wasn’t going to fare very well this time around. 

Steve’s envelope was exactly where he’d left it; behind that in-out tray of academia red tapes. He poured the content out over his table and read the part about the nature of projects that the grant would consider sponsoring, and most importantly the amount of sponsor up for grabs.

He could do this. The repulsor tech was remarkably flexible. He could weaponise it, like the DOD asked for.

Remember what it was about research and real life? That things never go smoothly as intended? The second pickle was an unsuspecting knock on the door.

“Come in,” Tony chimed, careful to slip the documents into the envelope before pitching it into a bottom drawer. When he finally looked up to see his visitor, his stomach churned again. God, what had he done to deserve this?

“Steve?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The general writing process of this ficcy involves two elements: the porno, and the overall plot. The in-between are not planned _at all_. They just happened. I suspect my fingers are sentient. Take Bucky for example. _Bucky isn't supposed to be here._ He just magicked out of nowhere and now we have a not-gay-Tony v. a not-gay-for-Tony-Steve (not in the initial plan, I tell ya). Let's just hope things can end coherently, shall we? And thank you for reading.


	3. Learning Outcomes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! There's nothing explicit going on in this chapter, but it helps take our men all the way to Kuala Lumpur for their next "adventure" in the following one. And please review, I'd like to know how I'm doing with the plot and the writing ^^ Thank you and enjoy!

Steve was furious.

Or rather from where he stood three meters away it was more like 95% likelihood that Steve was furious and another 5% that he was constipated. Tony could feel cold sweat literally beading on the back of his neck under the look Steve was fixing on him. His brain automatically hit "Rewind!" and he sifted through memories of recent events where he'd ostentatiously offended the man.

Oh plenty, sure, but Steve didn't know of any, so nothing counted.

"I am not expecting you this evening," Tony greeted cordially. He gestured for his guest to the wooden chair before him. Steve stood icily by the entrance, a hand still planted on the knob holding the door ajar. Somehow the stone silence was deadlier than any verbal outburst Tony had ever had to endure the past semester. Dread brewed slowly in the small space around them. "All right, at least come in, and close that door."

As Steve inched closer, Tony observed that his jaws were taut. Not a shred of humour lining his face. That was most troubling. If this were any other normal day, that if someone else from the department were to walk in here wearing that look, Tony would've at least seen it coming.

"You were at the stripper club. What for?"

Oh, _that._ Fuck.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me!"

Steve's left hand moved in such a speed that escaped Tony's ordinary human perception that all he saw was a flash, and in that split second he braced himself for the impact. He deserved that, he truly did, but a small part of him was defiantly screaming "Steve's bluffing!" Yet it didn't hurt, not one bit, for right before him lay a small, rectangular piece of something that Steve had just thrown over onto his very messy table.

He blinked once, and very slowly he recognised the scratched and faded staff card with his mugshot and "Dr Anthony Stark" plastered boldly on the front. His heart almost stopped.

"Ah, I've been looking for it since morning." Tony had no idea that fucking card was missing. He always had it attached to his hip by an elastic string. Never really took it off from his work attire. In fact, he'd barely enough presence of mind to transfer it from one pants to another before he piled everything else into the washing machine. Apart from that, the card was as good as never having existed. "Need that to access my lab." Not really. "Must've dropped it at the canteen or something. Or the library? Is that where you –"

"Matt found this in the cupboard where he and you were hiding in that night. Ring a bell?"

"Who's Matt?" Tony blurted, the first display of honesty this evening. Steve didn't seem amused, if anything, he gained on Tony and slammed a fist on the table. A tall stack of exam manuscripts toppled readily to the floor.

"The man you paid for a good fuck. That Matt. Remember him?"

Oh, so _that_ was his name. But it still didn't prove Tony's attendance in the establishment. Loopholes in the accusations – find 'em, use 'em.

"No, Steve. Calm down. You're upset, I understand. Kind of. I don't know who Matt is –"

But Steve was already fishing for his cell phone, which he tapped with such force Tony wouldn't be surprised if he pierced through the screen with his index finger. Then just as wordlessly, he half-slammed the device onto the table right next to the stupid staff card. Something was moving on the darkened screen and Tony realised there was a video playing.

He only needed to spare it three seconds before he returned it to Steve, face down.

Son of a bitch, that Matt.

"Matt's MO: always have the first customer under a camera."

CCTVs. Clever. A must-have in premises like that.

"'Cause we're such wholesome men."

"He told me why you were there. I come with questions." Steve's face hovered dangerously close to the scientist. Every man had a dark side, sure, but to Tony, this man he once thought a down-to-earth-apple-pie kind of guy pulling this kind of stunt, this was simply unthinkable. Steve's next words dripped with venom. "If I don't like your answers, I promise you I'll utilise whatever means within my reach to put you out of your current position in this university."

He hammered that message home good.

"Are you threatening me?"

Every man had a dark side, sure. And everyone had a button to push, a threshold to exceed. Tony wasn't going to allow himself be cornered and trampled on, not on his turf.

"You threatened Bucky first."

"Are you out of your mind? I don't know Bucky –"

A painful grip came around Tony's elbow where Steve had seized him.

"I know something is wrong when he –"

The door suddenly swung open behind them to admit a bespectacled young lady. She was reading from a clipboard and didn't seem to notice the show that was going on and said chirpily, "Boss, I need your signature –" until she finally tore her dewy eyes from the papers and saw a stranger manhandling Tony. Nobody said anything, but Tony was quite certain she was only two heartbeats away from screaming so quickly, he shushed her down, "It's all right. We're fine."

Steve released his hold on the scientist and promptly cast his eyes downwards. This was just the interlude they needed. Maybe Steve would see the error in judgement, because seriously, storming into someone else's work place and spewing all these hate words, what was up with that? Tony looked pointedly at Steve. His expression remained largely inscrutable and Tony desperately hoped the soldier would leave but he made it clear that he wasn't done yet, standing rooted where he was. 

"OK, maybe I can sign those papers tomorrow? Go home, rest, you've done a good job today."

Her eyes capered from Steve to her boss, not quite sure what to make of the incident. Tony was looking very flustered, uncannily so but she didn't argue. She nodded, and pulled the door to a close behind her.

Now that silence was restored, Tony began to hear the deep, calming breaths Steve was taking in.

"Look, I get you want to clarify things between us. I'm fine with that. Just not here, OK? My students and staff don't need to see this."

He was practically bouncing on his feet as he fluttered from one end of his office to another, picking up folders and journals. Steve awkwardly made to bend down and collect the papers strewn about his feet. Papers that were all over the place because he couldn't keep his damn temper in check in the first place.

"Leave them. I'll pick 'em up tomorrow."

Tony strode over to the door and held it open.

"Lets' go somewhere private. Then we'll talk. Where d'you want to go?"

Anger flashed fleetingly behind blue irises and he marched out of the door. As he passed Tony, he said, "My place."

* * *

The car ride was decidedly uncomfortable. Steve was driving, Tony strapped to the seat next to him. He didn't dare ask where they were going, as in, where in Boston they were heading, assuming of course that Steve wasn't taking them across the border, because "my place" can mean practically anywhere. When the car turned to Kent Street, Tony groaned inwardly. The circumstance did not escape Steve as well because when they drove past the strip club his grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point his knuckles turned white.

They spent the next fifteen minutes stewing in their respective emotional, mental crap that it was starting to get unsettling. When Tony suggested them to take the talk elsewhere, he imagined two grown-up men talking things calmly over dinner. He didn't think it would work out into an actual kidnap.

"It's really late now," Tony found himself mumbling under his breath. He wasn't sure if Steve heard it. He didn't take his eyes off the road but Tony noted the ever so slight shift in his posture. The ignorance game was really getting stale. "I'm hungry," he tried again, louder. "Wanna grab some dinner on the way?"

When the silence pressed on for two full minutes, Tony decided that it was a no. That wasn't going to bode well for him especially since the all too familiar sensation of toothpicks scratching the wall of his stomach was getting too persistent to ignore. If he couldn't get in food to quell the misery then lucky him, he'd brought back ups. Lately he'd developed a habit of carrying his antacids on his person and now seemed like the best time to deploy them. But as soon as he reached for his pocket, Steve relinquished his vice grip on the wheel and clasped around Tony's wrist. For the second time this evening Tony thought his heart almost stopped.

"Fuck! Let me go!"

"Don't try anything funny with me."

"What the – it's just my meds, OK?"

Very deliberately, with Steve's large hand still closed around his wrist, Tony dipped into his pocket to fish out a small ziplock bag. There was half a dozen of white, roundish tablets in it.

"See, just some stupid antacids, no biggie."

Steve released the scientist and let Tony pop two into his mouth. He seemed perfectly content with dry-swallowing them and… that was about the most exciting thing that'd happened during the trip. When the car at long last turned into a suburban neighbourhood, Tony heaved a sigh of relief. That was enough tension to last him a month.

Steve's apartment was sterile in both appearance and function. The sitting room had a loveseat and a straight-laced side table under the window. No TV, but that was what the desktop at the other end of the room was for. Two bookcases stood flushed against the wall and the only thing worth a second look was the collection of half-finished paintings littering the centre of the space. The aisle had a wet portrait of someone who looked very much like Bucky. The few others were pencil sketches of still arts – vases, trees, see-saws in the playground…

"You're actually good with this stuff. Arts."

Tony settled himself gracelessly in the loveseat before Steve had invited him to. He pressed his knuckles into his temples. What wouldn't he give for a glass of water and warm blankets? He'd be out like a light before Steve could say "homosexual".

"You've been to the club, haven't you? Twice."

This time Tony groaned audibly. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyeballs until white stars burst forth in his inky vision. Steve had video evidence against him doing M18 stuff with what's-his-face-Matt, so he knew he couldn't deny this one.

"I don't keep my count, but yes, I've been there."

"On both occasions, you asked for Bucky. Why?"

"Believe me, don't believe me, but I honestly don't know this Bucky you keep mentioning. I was there for a good night's fun."

Of course he'd be royally screwed if Steve pulled out an _audio recording_ from his phone. Thankfully he didn't call out this bluff, but Tony could still see doubt lingering in the way Steve was scrutinising him.

"Steve, it's cute and all, the way you… care for this guy, Bucky. I get it, you love him, but kidnapping me, all these third degree, it's a bit too much, isn't it? I mean, yeah, I dropped my card there, but Matt might've picked it up from the dance floor, the bar, even the toilet."

"In my line of work, suspicious behaviours and innocence don't often come hand in hand."

"Yeah. But this is different, right? Men on men. And don't give me the this-is-2016-nobody-cares lecture, because you and I know the second this gets out, people aren't gonna look at me the same again." Tony let his head rest against the back of his seat. He exhaled slowly, inwardly congratulating himself for wriggling free out of this one. "I teach, Steve. In a school. I work around kids." He regarded Steve meaningfully, "So now you know what skeleton I hide in my closet. And you're not to repeat it to another soul."

Steve raised his head to look at Tony, to _really_ look at him and for the first time that evening he didn't feel like he was bait dangling precariously on a hook. There was a touch of regret to the set of blue eyes, and maybe even a dash of confusion? Steve gapped as the cogs and gears clicked into place and suddenly, he said, "God, this is so fucked up. You're right. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. Matt's a bit of an ass, I can't believe how I let my emotions get the better of me."

"It's fine, it's all fine," Tony waved a hand dismissively. He was officially off the hook. "You're human, not a cold robot."

"It's hard to keep him safe sometimes," Steve deep voice seemed to reverberate in the night. "If anything happens to him, it's on me. All of it."

The prickles – now full-blown slashes in Tony's stomach were gaining in intensity. He pressed a shaky hand into his upper abdomen and shuddered. It'd never hurt this much before. He cracked an eye open and through the layer of tears he spotted Steve's back against him by the open window. Tony curled into himself and listed to his left, his body leaning heavily against the arm rest. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. And pain was all he was aware of, not how rueful Steve had just become as he tried to make it up for his behaviour, or the gentle waft of night breeze when Steve turned around as Tony failed to acknowledge the apology, or the thumping footsteps as he rushed to kneel by the loveseat. He braced Tony's trembling form by the biceps and asked what was hurting, but Tony could only groan and hold on to frayed ends of consciousness as he clenched a fist around his stomach.

Eventually everything numbed away and he could inhale, feel his lungs expand to their fullest glory. But it wasn't Steve's artsy living room he was in anymore. The wall was glaringly white, the loveseat was suddenly a bed now, and instead of the whiff of turpentine there was bleach.

"Tony? How are you feeling?"

The grey, hulking figure to his right stilled into focus as Tony squinted at it. He could almost make out Steve's features through the haze and boy was he glad that he didn't sound so pissed anymore.

"Hospital?" Tony croaked, and was taken aback with how unused his throat felt.

"Yes. That was a horrific case of gastric ulcer. You passed out at my place and I drove you right to A & E. Is it still hurting?"

Did the docs put him on painkillers? Like, all the array available? Because he could barely wriggle his toe without putting conscious effort into it. Hell everything else felt stiff. 

"I've taken the liberty of informing your HOD about this," Steve said, and upon seeing the look of horror that'd struck Tony, he explained, "Don't worry, Smith and I go way back, he even says you can take the week off."

"Smith's not the problem here," Tony interjected heatedly. "How long have I been out? What's the day?"

"It's Tuesday."

Tony turned abruptly to the lone window of his ward and earned a dull flare under his diaphragm. He didn't care. He stared long and hard at the darkened panes, realised that the sun was almost setting.

The day had ended. The NIH grant submission dateline had expired some hours ago at noon. And he'd missed it.

"Tony?"

He'd missed it.

"Do you need the doctor?"

And the pain was raring in his stomach again. He sighed, and closed an intubated hand over it. He didn't fight off Steve as he pushed him back into the pillow with absurd ease.

"Just take it easy these few days, all right? It's the stress, excessive intake of coffee and irregular meals that's screwing up your system. Take some time off to heal."

One door closes, the other opens right? So what if he'd lost a chance at the NIH grant. There'd got to be something else that he could do. Something else that came in the form of Steve Rogers and his brown envelope and a shot at getting funded by the military itself. He didn't forget that, he tried to, but if back then he couldn't bring himself to accept Steve's generosity, when push turned to shove, he just had to do what he had to do to.

"The dateline for that call for grant from the military is in what, another week?"

"Two actually, but you need to rest. You got a freaking hole in your stomach –"

"I need to go back to work."

"You need to rest."

"I have to work, Steve! If I can't leave, then I'll just work here. I'll have someone bring my laptop over."

"Nothing is more important than the state of your health. Can't this all wait until –"

"There's no more time for me!"

Tony grimaced at the exertion. His fingers curled around the hem of his blanket and he tried dulling the aches with deep breaths. It kind of worked, and Steve looked apologetic again. He went on as calmly as he could, "My performance appraisal for the term is coming up. I've lost the NIH grant. Our coffer is running dry. We won't have enough to bring us into next year. So you must understand, Steve. I need to work. Now give me my phone."

Steve grudgingly handed over the Blackberry and watched the scientist tap furiously on the keypad.

"I've been thinking about this for a while," Steve began in between the flurry of typing, "There's a project that I need to oversee in Kuala Lumpur and the team I'm put in contact with has a lab in UM."

Tony's fingers slowed to a complete stop, his ears peaking in alert.

"UM, as in University of Malaya?" 

"So I take it you heard the rumours."

"Yeah, if you can wear Robocop, you'll make headlines too."

There's something about flying that human beings just can't get enough of. Maybe it is exactly because they can't, not meant to, hence the craving for what-ifs. The sky high enthusiasm for anything that could leap of the ground and remain afloat afforded any flying garbage some sort of publicity over the last decade. But for someone like Tony who'd always had an invested interest in all things that fly, he'd been keeping both eyes peeled for even a semi-functional prototype. He of course would've built the damn thing himself despite not being an expert in aerodynamics (yet), but this Assistant Professorship thing was hogging too much of his time.

The team in UM was one of the many racers doing the arduous let's-fly lap. What set them apart was, instead of another hovering skateboard or a compact one-seater helicopter, it was a _flying suit of armour._ Just picturing how it'd look set his inner engineer into a giggling fit. Tony remembered choking over a carrot smoothie when he read the report. It was just a prototype, a miniaturised one at that, probably the length of his forearm. But it was still a piece of engineering miracle, and he admired the ingenuity of successfully getting it off the ground.

"It's an interesting concept, I'll give it to them. But it'll take a lot of juice to power mini-Robocop. Pre-existing battery tech just isn't advanced enough."

"And that's where I hope you can come in, Tony."

Clearly the repulsor tech would be their Eureka. Nigh unlimited power. And he'd already figured out how to whittle it down in size to be able to mount it on the suit itself – the disappointment of not being able to apply the idea for the NIH grant still stung. But the point was, the brainwork had already been sought out. There was a chance he could realise this.

"When's your flight?"

In his eagerness, he straightened up too abruptly that the flare came back with a vengeance. He winced visibly and Steve faltered, as if remembering that there was an ill man in their midst. He shook his head sadly.

"Maybe another time? You need to focus on getting better."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You know I got to do this."

Steve looked torn.

"You've given me the opportunity of a lifetime. Don't take it back. Not now."

And Steve relented. "I'll get you a ticket. In the meantime, you're gonna stay your ass in the hospital and get well, as much as you can anyway, and if I think you're not faring any better I'm hauling you back to A & E. Agree?"

"Yes, Sir…"

Steve started for the door, but he deliberated where he stood, his hand still on the stainless steel knob. When he spoke next, his eyes were glued to the tiled floor as if he couldn't find the strength to even look at the other man.

"Tony, I want to apologise for what I did to you yesterday. That was –"

"It was a misunderstanding. You did what you have to. It freaked me out, but I'm not holding it against you, so no more chick flick moments."

The boyish smile returned to Steve. "OK."

The paperwork following the discharge procedure was not as irksome as Tony thought to be, so as he stood there, still sore with most of his weight balanced on his right foot, he filled in his third form and signed his name with a flourish. His mood had improved over the past couple of nights despite not having any visitors save for the postdoc bearing his laptop and Steve. His two days in the hospital followed a steady regimen of work, breakfast, work, lunch, work, Steve dropping by for a visit, dinner and sleep. In fact Steve was right beside him now, totting a luggage of toiletries and fresh change of clothes. They were all Steve's; Tony didn't have the common sense of asking the postdoc to fetch basic necessities along with the laptop, and if the scientist thought having an employee digging around his underwear drawer was crossing lines, why wouldn't he ring up a brother, or a cousin, or a close friend, or the boyfriend (maybe?).

So Steve had to spare Tony some of his own wardrobe. Tony appreciated that. He hadn't gotten the chance to say thank you though, between the nth forms and the limping to Steve's car and the recollection that Tony's own sedan was still stashed somewhere on campus. They made a detour halfway through to go back for it but Tony was already fading, his skin pallid and his breathing in hitches at times. Steve suggested the painkillers, but Tony glared at the tablets in disdain. Steve did another U-turn and made for Tony's home. The car would just have to wait for another day.

"Oh God…" Tony sighed gratefully once his sore self settled into his couch. Home fucking home at last. "Make yourself at home, Steve." The luggage hit the floor with a soft thud as Steve meandered through the kitchen, searching for a glass of water. And if he could be so bold, Steve thought to himself as he held a clean glass under the tap, the place was a mess. Highlight and underline that. There was a certain staleness to the air that hung upon them, like a home that hadn't been lived in often enough. He knew Tony had taken to sleeping in the office recently but this general feel of abandonment didn't look temporary.

There were only two sets of cutleries in the cabinet, one well-used mug left to dry over the counter and a fridge stocked with half-a-dozen beer cans and frozen pizzas.

It seemed to Steve that Dr Anthony Stark was a full-fledged bachelor, one who wasn't capable of living sensibly at all.

"Hey," Steve nudged the almost dozing scientist in the shoulder. "Drink up."

Tony just realised he was parched. He downed everything in one continuous gulp and pushed the empty glass back to Steve as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He leaned back into the couch again and decided he wasn't going to move another inch for the next eight hours.

"All right, let's get you into the shower, a fresh change of clothes and you can sleep until dinner. I'll make you some chicken porridge, if I can find some grains of rice around here…"

"Nah, it's fine. You've done a lot for me past couple of days, Steve. Too much, in fact. Bet you can't wait to get rid of me now."

"I can't just leave you here."

"Sure you can." The narrowest sliver of brown irises peeked from under heavy-lashed lids. "I can take it from here, really. I owe you one this time."

"I really can't leave you on your own right now. You can barely stand straight."

"Nonsense."

"OK. Take that glass to the sink yourself, then."

Tony whined impetuously at that, but otherwise remained stationary in his seat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered eventually, his eyes slipping to a shut again. "I really do appreciate your help, Steve." For a stranger, Steve had been really good to him. Hell he didn't think Mom and Dad both could compare to what Steve had done for him in the past two weeks. "I'm just… so tired…"

The couch sagged next to him where Steve took his seat. "Your body is healing. Let it. You probably pushed it past its limit while working on that NIH grant."

"Heh, and it's all for nothing."

"You still have another proposal to write up. And you can't do that if you refuse to give yourself a chance at getting better."

"Fine," Tony sighed, his head lolling to his side. "Can I skip the bath, 'cause I really just want to pass out right now."

Tony counted five seconds before he sensed Steve getting up and disappearing to some corner of his house. As hard as he strained his ears he couldn't hear the other man's footsteps anymore. Creepy, in a way, but soon Steve came back to him and somehow he'd found himself a basin with hot water and a good morning towel.

When the damp thing touched Tony's neck, he'd literally jumped in his seat. He almost upended the basin of water if not for Steve's quick reflexes, pulling everything out of his flailing arms before any of them made contact.

"Fuck, what the hell was that?"

"You reek."

"In my own house! I live alone, nobody's gonna complain."

"You're filthy. You're not going to bed like this."

"I totally am. Now go away. Go be nice to someone else."

The legs of a stool, metal on wood, scrapped against the floor as Steve pulled one over and parked it right before Tony. He promptly sat on it and settled the basin of water on his laps.

"You know, it's OK to accept help from other people once in a while."

Oddly enough, just by not moving for a couple of seconds was enough to lull him completely into oblivion. He felt heavier, wearier than he'd ever been, and his eyes slowly drooped to his cheeks. Even when he felt something tugging at his collar, he let it. The first button was popped. Then the second. Until his dress shirt came apart and cool air skated across his bare chest that he slowly cracked an eye open.

Steve tensed as Tony watch him work. He meant well of course, and it didn't come across as freakish at all, at first, but from the way Tony was glowering and holding his breath, Steve had to stop. He held his hands up. To his dismay, the scientist visibly flinched at the gesture and almost shrunk into the couch, willing the foam to swallow him whole. Tony remembered Matt and his stupid I-mean-no-harm hands; it didn't mean fucking anything because he went ahead and did whatever he wanted anyway.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I don't mean to be… weird, if that's what you're thinking. It's just a sponge bath. Just trying to help you feel better."

"Is this normal to you people?"

A muscle in Steve's jaw twitch. Tony had enough decency to look mortified at the slip of the tongue.

"You talk as if you haven't come to terms with who you really are."

"That's bull. I know exactly who I am."

Steve returned to attending to the scientist and this time, he kept still. He wrung the towel and dabbed it on the slightly flushed skin, starting gently from the small area under the ears. Where he wiped at the juncture of Tony's neck and shoulders he felt knots, and he smoothed them away, kneading at the tensed flesh with nimble fingers. Tony relaxed into the massage, and he sighed contently at the sensation, the bickering minutes before forgotten.

"This feels good," he commented sleepily, "but still max on weird."

"Back in the Army, it's little things like this that makes sick camps bearable." He brought the towel back to the basin before wringing it dry again. "Every soldier has a story to tell. Mine is from one of the Afghanistan tours. Took a bullet to the back." He resumed his strokes along the length of Tony's right arm, shoulders to elbow, and to the tip of his fingers. "The first three days was bad. Couldn't eat, couldn't move. The nights felt never-ending, but my friends were what kept me going." Steve rinsed the towel and when it returned to Tony's body, he swiped it down the expanse of the chest. He studied the tattoo with mild interest, subconsciously tracing along the perimeter of the circle motive with a triangle within it. There was a stray thread poking from the corner of the cloth and as Steve continued his ministration, it brushed repeatedly across a nipple. That jolted Tony a bit, and he was so close to scratching that damn itch until Steve closed the wad of towel over the stiffened nubs that he winced.

"These… behaviours that occur as weird to civilians, to us, they're a form of comfort."

"Steve, I don't mean it like that."

He hung the towel on the rim of the basin and motioned for Tony to give up the shirt completely. His back now free from obstruction, Steve turned his care to it, working from the shoulders again towards the base of Tony's spine. As the water evaporated off his skin and along with it the heat, he decided that this time, just this one time, he'd allowed himself this comfort.

They didn't speak again for the longest of time, but this felt almost companionable. To Tony, it was just him and this pair of deft hands, working their ways meticulously, removing grime from his body. There was an unmistakable touch of something soldiery to it, precise and firm wherever it travelled. It was enthralling to a fault that when Steve wordlessly motioned for Tony to surrender his pants too, the scientist obliged. Now covered in nothing but the boxers (brand new, not borrowed from Steve) he leaned back into the couch. The warm towel landed on his thigh. The careful massage made another comeback at the tender region, and Tony in his stupor, absent-mindedly spread his legs further, allowing Steve easier access. He took the opportunity and Tony recognised changes to the movements. The strokes were slow and deliberate, teasing even, as he rubbed circles over the same area and just when the fabric started to feel too harsh Steve hopped to the other thigh, repeating what he was doing until Tony felt a pressure right in the middle of his crotch.

When Steve halted, Tony looked at the other man and saw him gawking at somewhere navel-level. He followed the stare and realised he had a fucking _tent_ in his boxers. Tony yelped and pulled the discarded shirt into his lap.

"God, Steve, I'm so sorry. This isn't what it looks like – totally unintentional –"

To his amusement, Steve burst out laughing, neither rude nor offensive, just God honest I-find-this-amusing-too funny. "Don't worry about it."

Tony commended the amount of tact Steve had; he got up and gathered the basin and the towel and even hauled the luggage bag to Tony's feet so he could get some fresh change of clothes from it. Then he went upstairs again to the bathroom, allowing them both some minutes of privacy as Tony fished for a random T-shirt and sweatpants.

And thanks to that one stupid, defiant show of testosterone surge the rest of the evening spiralled downwards. Their conversations were back to awkward and Tony couldn't even maintain eye contact longer than a glance. He politely declined invitations to tea and dinner while strongly suggested that he needed more rest. Steve conceded, understood that he'd overstayed his welcome. When the back of his car disappeared around the corner, Steve a mere silhouette against the sunset, Tony slumped against the door frame and banged the side of his head repeatedly against the door frame.

He was still hard in his baggy pants. This evening had been so fucking confusing.


	4. The Other Side of Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the slow update T.T

Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia, a fine country in the heart of South East Asia. Also on average, 30 hours flight away from Boston. Preparations had been rather last minute – Tony just wasn't a hardcore go getter kind of person when it came to the drearier parts of life – and he couldn’t shake off the feeling like he’d forgotten to pack something. So he was infinitely grateful that Steve offered to take care of the logistics; anywhere from lodging to flight booking to arranging for hotel transfers. When Steve arrived at his place a good five hours before the stipulated hour for checking in, Tony was moving around in a blur, one hand totting a half-filled suitcase and the other, a wad of cash. 

“It’s a business trip for the both of us. I can pay my share. Here, for everything.”

Sure he wouldn’t say no to free lunches once in a while but when he needed to go Dutch, he’d go Dutch. 

“You can pay me later,” Steve said, not taking the proferred money. “You ready?”

Tony was only beginning to compile his research notes and slides but had only gotten so far. Just one more slide, he told himself, one more - but with Steve standing right at the door looking so stern? Then he remembered his clothes still a jumble in his closet and his toiletries in the medicine cabinet, so he replied shiftily, “Uh, no.”

“Things aren’t gonna fold themselves into your luggage. Start getting to it.”

“I will,” Tony closed his laptop exasperatedly. “Look, I’m trying to get the presentation slides ready and it’s not going to be fun working on this crap with all the jetlag, so let me work on this in peace. We’re way too early anyway, how about you spare me another hour?”

“What presentation slides?”

To answer that, Tony mentally rewound time to two days prior. When Steve passed him the contact details of the PI overseeing the mini-Robocop programme, he’d deliberated on the edge of the phone receiver for a grand total of two minutes before dialing the numbers. Pleasantries were exchanged but most importantly, Dr Umah (who turned out to be a she after all) seemed thrilled about having enticed interest all the way from the States. He'd cut to the chase and said he hoped to drop by for a visit, and he swore he heard her squeal a bit. 

“She’s interested in the repulsor technology too, so she asked if I’d like to give a talk about it, after which we can have a discussion over lunch or something.”

Tony looked absolutely pleased with himself. Steve couldn’t help but nod encouragingly at that.

“OK, that’s terrific news.”

“Yeah. I really do owe you one this time, Steve. I can almost see it, the beginning of something amazing. It’s going down in history.”

“If you finish packing and make it for the flight, that is. If I don’t see you done in thirty minutes I’m leaving you here.”

* * *

To some, academia was paradise – flexible hours, fun, plenty of traveling opportunities. Tony concurred, but he also must say that sometimes the glory wasn't worth the trouble that entailed the job description. Take traveling, for example. Oftentimes he wished he could magically appear at his destination with a swish of his work jumpsuit because he really, _really_ disliked traveling. Everything that'd happened after getting through the customs was a frenetic blur. Steve was still his calm collected self, so he manoeuvred them both like he’d been to a tropical country half way around the globe on a regular basis. Or maybe he did. Tony would have to ask Steve that, if globe-trotting was part of _his_ job description. If so, that certainly wasn't something Tony could be envious of. The jetlag and anti-emetic pills alone...

Then he went through the motion, monkeying whatever Steve was doing. He clambered into a cab that Steve'd flagged - Tony recalled Steve saying something like “Pullman Bangsar, please” to the disinterested driver – and they checked into the hotel without ado. But when they were shown their assigned room, Tony froze. Steve looked at him and peaked a brow. 

“What? The room’s not good enough?”

“Uh, Steve, there’s only one bed in here.”

He jabbed a finger to the lone king-sized bed occupying the middle of the space, making his point. Steve bent to collect his luggage and trotted to the wardrobe.

“Yeah, so?”

“So?” Tony’s voice went a pitch higher. “I’m getting myself a room then.”

“Didn’t you hear the receptionist? There’s an event in the city so all the other rooms are booked. The other places as well, if going by the local news.” 

Steve turned on the TV when the silence stretched on a bit and true enough, two different channels were broadcasting something about a rally and the one that had it in English said something about banning the colour yellow for the weekend. Having enough of crazies to last him a day, Tony pulled his own luggage to the other corner of the room and started taking out his toiletries. Steve watched him quietly.

“You sure you're OK?” he finally asked, as Tony fumbled around with the zipper and squeezed his eyes tightly when he couldn’t seem to focus.

“Yeah. Just tired. I’m taking a shower.”

When he disappeared into the bathroom, he could hear the TV volume pick up. The voice of the newscaster came on sharper than before, but in a tongue that Tony couldn’t understand. Most probably Malay, the country’s national language, and he wondered if Steve was actually paying attention to it, like he could understand it. 

Thankfully there were no further plans for the rest of the day. Recuperation and rejuvenation – that was how Tony’d like to spend the rest of the evening. Dinner at the in-house restaurant was sublime. He loved Malaysia if only for the food. There was a serious dearth in his understanding of the country’s culture and history and he wondered if he needed a crash course in “Understanding Malaysia” before he go and say hey to potential collaborators, because the last thing he needed was him pissing off people and not even knowing why. Wikipedia helped, so did various blogs and government-linked websites. Some he had to X-away because they were in Malay or Chinese, and he now understood the significance of the three races (and several others, but attention was given to the three main ones), which explained all the fusion Malay, Chinese and Indian cuisine now being digested in his stomach.

One could know a country from the food, so someone said.

Tony turned off his laptop and slipped it carefully into his briefcase. Steve was still nose deep in “The Star”, a local daily, as he had been for the past hour. 

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

Steve turned a page. “We should get to know the area a bit. I’m thinking a walk around the city. Do you know where UM is?”

“Now you’re just patronising. It’s just down there.”

The only constructions separating the main entrance of UM and the Pullman were a four-lane highway and an accompanying flyover. Tony noticed the university’s archway (cool!) and its guardhouse when the cab was doing a U-turn into the hotel’s drop-off point. It couldn’t have been a convenient coincidence. Steve had indeed put a lot of thought into this trip. 

“Why?” Tony blurted.

Steve looked up from the papers. He looked questioningly at the scientist. "Come again?"

“I said, why? I appreciate all these, don’t get me wrong, but I’m going to be blunt here, it feels like there’s a secondary agenda going on.”

Steve lowered his reading material to his laps. “I don’t get you.”

“Look, in my 30-plus years of living, nobody would give me a chance at scoring a grant application when I’m in a pinch, hell if they could get rid of competition, I don’t doubt they wouldn’t. But you did, and you don’t even know me. Then you connect me to this lab halfway around the world – which is splendid for my portfolio, thank you – and then you get all the red carpeting done for both of us. This is all…” Tony faltered, gesturing vaguely to the room. “This is all too good to be true, you know what I’m saying?”

“You’re questioning my motivations?” Steve deadpanned. Tony gulped at the intensity of his stares.

“I’m a cautious man by nature.”

“OK. You’re right to question, why would I be nice to some AP from Boston U? Suffice to say that it’ll do us good if we get your technology to grow in proper hands.”

That caught Tony off his guard. “What? Who’s ‘us’?”

“The military of course. Of the USA.”

“Which you represent. Of course,” he rattled off, pacing the short width of the room. “Aren’t you jumping the gun here? You don’t know if I’m gonna get the military funding or not.”

“You’re right. But we’re still interested in your reactor technology.”

“That doesn’t make much sense, does it? You can’t say you’re interested if you’re not really funding me, and you certainly can’t just take it and mould it into something else that befits your… schemes.”

“Why not?”

“It’s patented, Steve. My name on the deed. Even you guys are not above the laws.”

Tony grabbed for his key card and wallet. Steve got to his feet, suddenly looking worn and regretful of the turn of event. “Where are you going? It’s late.”

“I’m getting a drink,” Tony replied curtly as he pulled on his shoes. “Don’t wait up.” 

That was the pills and the fatigue talking, he chastised himself and quickly regretted every word he'd said and step taken towards the elevator. When he stabbed at the “Up” button he half-heartedly wanted to go back to the room and apologised. Nevertheless his legs had a mind of their own and though he didn’t go to the Skybar after all, he did stroll over to relatively deserted corner on the roof and perched himself on a parapet. 

From where he was he could glimpse upon some of the taller buildings within UM compound. There was a white block in the middle of it, a row of words spelling “Canseleri” blazing across. He didn’t know a single word of Malay but he’d hazard a guess that stood for _Chancellery_. That didn’t seem too bad, did it? Maybe a large chunk of the Malay vocabulary borrows from English. A bit of touch-up on the spellings and voila! 

So Tony spent the next hour browsing a Malay tabloid he’d nicked from the Skybar (while narrowly avoiding the well-stocked alcohol cabinet on display), taking pleasure in seeing words that seem English but not really, and when he flipped over to the final page, he realised at least Steve was honest about one thing: a rally was expected to take place in the heart of Kuala Lumpur this weekend, and that ridiculous ban on anything yellow was not a joke after all. Tony replaced the magazine and walked closer to the edge where he could see the city’s nightline in its entirety.

The tension and edginess of the night felt almost surreal. 

Tony hobbled back to the room at 1.30 a.m., his head all cottony. He didn’t turn on the lights and went about his own business as quietly as he could. But the bed was empty, the sheets pristine and untouched.

Tony whipped around and found Steve lying on his side in the sofa, a thin blanket draped carelessly over his chest. There was a military straightness to the posture even as he snored on, and through the dimness Tony discerned undiluted fatigue lining Steve's face. Tony went to crouch beside him, not knowing if he should rouse the sleeping man and march him to their bed. But between that or putting up with an achy soldier for the rest of the day, there was no contest.

Tony clasped a warm hand over Steve’s shoulders and jerked him lightly, “Hey, wake up. Bed's over there.” 

It was going to be a long night indeed.

* * *

After breakfast, Steve suggested they take a walk around the block and familiarise themselves with the locality. Know where to find the police station, the hospital or the neighbourhood clinic at the very least; know the number to call in case of an emergency (“Huh, it's 999, what do you know?”). There was a modest network of office buildings and eateries attached to the back of Pullman. After crossing over the pedestrian bridge they emerged on the other side of the Federal Highway to a train station. Very convenient, Tony thought as he threw a sideways glance at Steve, who appeared to be memorising every nook and cranny of the area. 

Guess he’d settle with just remembering landmarks then, like this mosque near the intersection, just so he could find his way back if he got estranged from Steve-dearie. Was it him, or did it really begin to smell like paranoia with a capital “P”? 

“You look tense,” he commented when Steve watch a passing-by bus like it personally offended him before.

“It’s called paying attention. We’re not in America anymore. It'll do you well to remember that.”

And he stalked off towards what looked like a desolate apartment with grime blanketing the exterior. What joy…

When they returned to Pullman for lunch (“God, this ‘nasi lemak’ is amazing, I gotta have the recipe…”) Steve had a map spread out across his lap (over his napkin) that he'd taken to studying between mouthfuls of spaghetti. 

“OK, you know what,” Tony started as Steve pulled out a red pen from thin air, “we’re having lunch. Can’t that – whatever it is you’re doing – wait?”

“I thought you professors work at meal times all along.”

“Yeah, but that’s when we’re stuck behind the desktop. We’re literally a world away now so we should – and why are you eating spaghetti?”

Steve looked down to his plate, frowning, expecting to see something wrong with his order.

“We’re in another country, Steve. Try their local food. They’re heavenly by the way.”

Steve shrugged and shoved a meatball into his mouth. 

Night was spent in companionable silence. Steve was back in his sofa, lounging along it as he perused his tablet. Tony was sitting in the bed, his fingers a mad dash over the keyboard. They went about their own business until a jarring “Ping!” blared from his speakers, an alert for incoming e-mails. It didn't take him long to notice a particular memo that carried a red flag in its subject: [2nd reminder] Document submission for KPI appraisal '16. 

Tony stared at it for the longest of time, his heart catching up in beats. As long as he could strike some sort of collaboration with Dr Umah, beef up his things-I’ve-achieved-thus-far list, he should be fine. He should be. 

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked curtly from his seat, his tablet lying askew on the cushion.

“It’s that time of the year again. My performance appraisal.” Tony folded his laptop and settled it on the side table. “It’s a bit of a problem on this side of the career line.”

“On _all_ sides of the career line. It’s no trouble to you, surely?”

“Uh, considering that my lab is running out of money, plus I don’t seem to ‘play well with others’, so I got no friends at higher places either, I think the water is boiling kind of hot this time.”

Steve swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and sat up straighter, a frown in place. “Your work is phenomenal. The repulsor technology aside, you’re also the brains behind third generation batteries, improved modelling of aerodynamics on flapping wings and I think hovering techs as well. I don’t see why that’s not a guarantee to at least a tenure.”

“At least a tenure?” Tony scoffed. “If companies don’t want ‘em, they’re not exactly cash convertible. Just some ideas. And my bosses are all about the ka-ching. And we’ve already discussed this. They’re too high-risk. No sane people will want to fund these shit.”

Steve reached for two bottles of mineral water from the in-house mini-fridge and promptly tossed one over to Tony. “Dr Umah’s flying armours look promising. If you can marry one of your techs –”

“– to her works, it’s a win-win. I know. Much hope depends on tomorrow’s discussion.”

“When is it?”

Dr Umah replied to his e-mail just after dinner time, confirming that Tony would have a seminar slot slightly before lunch. After which they'd follow up with an actual discussion for a possible collaboration and perhaps, a lab visit and if all goes well, they could be finalising immediate aspects to work on as a prelude to their joint-venture. Indeed, much hope depends on tomorrow.

They turned in soon after, Steve taking the right side of the bed while Tony occupied the left – a bolster in between to mark their respective territory – yet Tony found himself unable to sleep. 

* * *

Steve flagged a cab to take him to a conference centre nestled, among other crisscrossing high-risers, deep within Kuala Lumpur. Tony surprised Steve when he said he knew roughly where it was; the impressive landmark that was the Petronas Twin Towers – once the tallest building in the world – was just a stone’s throw away. Tony decided to walk into UM since the sun wasn’t scorching with plenty of clouds to shade him, and they agreed to meet back at the Pullman for dinner.

UM was in fact the first university of then-Malaya, before the Independence. In those days the entire campus was just basically one faculty, of Medicine. Tony tugged lightly at the strap of his bag that he'd slung over his shoulder. He wiped at his brow as he walked past First College, the oldest residential college on campus. Up ahead was Second College, and if he craned his neck to look over the trees, at about 9 o’clock yonder he could see the roof of 12th College. Progress all around. And as his eyes raked across the yellow Engineering Tower, he heaved a sigh. 

Let today be the beginning of progress for him too.

The lecture was a bit of a disappointment really. The hall was large but so was the negative space. He counted not more than seven attendees and by the time he reached his middle slide, three had already left. When the host thanked him and opened the session to the floor, nobody asked questions. The student at the back yawned audaciously wide at the back. Tony’s grin tightened at the corner of his lips, and when he said his thanks and started packing his bag, he couldn’t help but feel that he was most possibly, doomed.

Dr Umah’s lab was conveniently located in the adjacent building. She was a gracious middle-aged lady. Her long, curly locks hung just over her shoulders and her smile was genuine when she welcomed Tony to her office. They spoke at length about the reactor tech, with Tony displaying charts after charts of energy readouts and the elements’ half-lives. She listened rapturously, so unlike the audience in the morning and slowly, his confidence came back. 

After lunch, she showed him the way to her lab. When the door swung open, something kind of large, metallic and heavy, almost collided with the side of his head if not for him instinctive ducking at the sound of spluttering engine. Dr Umah's frantic voice came over the inevitable crash of metal on cemented ground.

“My goodness, I am so sorry for that, Anthony. We’re not supposed to do flight-tests in the lab, I do not endorse this…”

As Dr Umah proceeded to verbally tear several postgraduate students from limb to limb, Tony picked the thing up from the floor. It was just the length of his forearm. Heavier than it looked though, and he checked it over for secret compartments of folded air foils or propellers, something of a "cheat" mechanism that'd enable a chunk like this to even take off for a flight. Finding none, he flipped it back and found himself staring at the faceplate. Cold and calculating with a perpetual scowl carved into it, Tony reminded himself to give his kudo to whoever'd come up with this design.

“Anthony, this way please. Now let me take that, it’s kind of muddy…”

A rather red-eared student – very young, but don't all Asians look younger than they actually are? – came up to the white board and started penning down equations. Tony studied each of them, scratching his mustache as his mind reeled with the brilliance of the proposed concepts of aerodynamics. On the drawing board it looked far-fetched, but obviously it worked; it almost gave him a good concussion minutes ago. And imagine all the good that could come out of it. Like a conventional drone, only with an actual human piloting it. Military surveillance, medical support, espionage... the possibilities!

The problem was, they unanimously agreed on, that they could only wait for energy or battery tech to catch up to them. 

That evening ended with Dr Umah and Tony shaking hands, promising to keep in touch and start working on what would become a rather game changing joint venture. Tony left UM with his head held high. He had a good feeling about this. It was the change of tide. 

Just as that thought left his mind a damp cloth, unforgivingly pungent clamped tightly over his nose and mouth. He inhaled deeply, once, and soon he knew no more.

* * *

When Tony was younger, his mother took him to the field to play Frisbee. It was a day to remember, because Mom rarely had time for him, and Dad almost never. She threw the disc with a gentle smile and Tony ran ahead eagerly for it. What wouldn’t he give to see Mom happy like this whenever she was with him? His little fingers curled hopefully around hard plastic, but when he next opened his eyes, it was to a greyish brown ceiling and harsh fluorescent light, the field a recent memory. Turned out he had a little hole in his heart, right at the septum that made his circulation and ultimately oxygen transportation inefficient. They could do a surgery to patch it up but the family couldn’t afford it. His mother stayed with him that night in the ward. He watched her stare out into the inky night, her eyes glazed. There were no more smiles playing on her lips. Tony couldn't bear to see that, so he turned around to his side and soaked his pillow with silent tears. 

Maybe Mom was thinking they’d be better off with him dead?

When Tony gained consciousness of his surrounding, he quickly understood it was 2015 and he was in UM. Or should be. He blinked rapidly, chasing the ghosts of his childhood away and the lingering weariness in his body. Where exactly he was he wasn’t sure, but he knew he was alone, half-sitting with his upper body draping a table. He straightened himself and appraised himself for injuries.

Someone took him, he speculated as he pushed himself unsteadily off the rickety chair. Or rather, someone _drugged_ him, dragged him here and dumped him. He looked around a bit, ignoring the sense of mild vertigo. He was absolutely alone. Maybe they'd rifled through his wallet and discovered that he was a lame-ass professor worth absolutely nothing. Only he still had them. His personal effects were in his pockets - his wallet and phone. 

And it rang.

Shakily he pressed the “Accept” button. “Yeah?” 

“Where are you?” came Steve's familiar voice. Tony had never felt gladder to have heard that. “I’m outside the block. Would you hurry up?”

Tony cradled his head in his palm. His brain was a muddled mess he not only didn't understand Steve, but also seemingly lost the capability of asking for help. Oh yes, he needed that badly - he shuffled along dusty hallways and had to catch himself on the side of the wall when the edge of his sight started closing in on him. One thing he knew for certain was Steve was waiting for him, don't know where, but he didn't trouble himself with the details. Before long he reached a door and he twisted the knob. Then he was falling through it. 

“Tony!”

He hit the tarmac hard. He scrapped his palms because they stung, and he was going to tip over if not for strong arms securing him around his elbows. When Steve pulled him to his feet, his stomach curdled that he almost threw up.

“Are you OK?” Steve asked with a tinge of worry.

He was going to say yes, and maybe rattle off three more of its synonyms, when he felt an inexplicable jolt _inside_ him. He gasped audibly, and Steve tightened his grip.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!”

And there was that jolt again.

“No, please.”

Tony looked around rabidly, anywhere but Steve, because he knew he was getting redder in the face by the minute, and also because he was lucid enough to now place an adjective on what he was experiencing.

Pleasure. Shameless, burgeoning pleasure. 

He shifted his weight on his feet, trying to stand independently and sure again it came, the familiar tug in his lower abdomen. 

“Take it easy, breathe. We’re just behind the Pullman. I’m taking you back, OK?”

Tony nodded, and threw his arm around Steve’s neck. 

By the time they were safe in the security of their own room, Tony felt his self-control slowly ebb away. Steve settled him on the edge of the bed and proceeded to drawing the curtains close, bathing the place in shadows of privacy. Tony breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. The back of his shirt was damp with cold sweat and he couldn’t help the little tremors. His fidgets didn’t escape Steve’s keen eyes. Tony jolted in his spot when Steve lowered himself beside him.

“God help us both, if you say you’re fine when it’s obvious you’re not –”

Tony clasped both hands tightly in each other. He averted his eyes to the carpet and in a voice more subdued than the usual, he admitted, “I think there’s something… in me.”

“Come again?”

“Damn it,” he shuddered again, “there’s something _inside_ me, Steve.”

“Inside you, like surgeon-left-something-behind kind of inside?”

Tony squirmed uncomfortably at the mere thought of that, but he quickly brushed it aside when the vibrations, now strong against his core was growing to the point that it was impossible to ignore. He swallowed thickly, “Like something-up-the-backdoor inside.”

“Oh, God…” 

Tony watched Steve’s shadow reflected off the TV screen as he paced the expanse of the room. Though he could barely keep his train of thoughts from derailing amidst all the feel-goods, he noted a mixture of frustration, and horror, and fear - though he didn't know why - etched on Steve’s face. Tony could almost hear the way cogs and gears turn in Steve's noggin, and he was somewhat heartened by it because he'd long given up thinking, uncharacteristically so as he twiddled a crease in the bedsheet. The shaking in his hands lingered, and he was thirsty, so thirsty… what did the creeps feed him?

“OK,” Steve finally said, “first thing’s first. We got to get it out of you.”

“No,” Tony spluttered. Steve advanced on him and he instinctively curled into himself. “No, stay away from me – I don’t want it!”

“Fine, if you can do it yourself then by all means,” and Steve gestured at the bathroom door, his expression still severe, “or I do it for you, either way it’s got to come out.”

Well, that was the easiest choice to make in weeks. Tony instructed his legs to straighten, stand up, and God did he try, but they wouldn’t budge. His hands wouldn’t comply either and he sat there dejectedly as the bottom of his stomach disappeared into oblivion. Steve approached the bed carefully, looking down at him almost apologetically.

“I’m sorry it has to be like this.”

Resigned, Tony nodded and scooted further into the bed. Steve followed him, drawing his knees to straddle Tony’s flank. If Steve was hesitant before this he didn’t show it, his movements steadfast as he worked on easing off first, Tony’s belt and next, the pants. Tony’s breathing was picking up its pace, and as he studied the way Steve undress him, he unknowingly strained so hard against the headboard as if rigour mortis had just settled in.

Steve didn’t waste time with meek consolations, words they both understood would be spent meaninglessly between them. So he lifted Tony’s legs by the calves, had them bent at the knees as Steve positioned himself in between. It was perhaps courtesy, or concern, or curiosity, Tony didn’t care much at that point, that Steve looked up to assess his distress. Or maybe he was seeking permission? Tony abruptly looked away. When a callous finger pad started tracing the exterior ring of his entrance, he bit back a swear word.

Then Steve pushed in. Tony did gasp at the intrusion, and Steve did stop, but before he could steal himself a breather Steve forced his index finger all the way to the knuckle. He'd wriggled and twitched. Was it too late to have a change of heart now? Tony winced at the discomfort of it all and found himself half-buried in pillows, his head resting awkwardly at an angle on wood. 

“You OK?” Steve finally asked, his voice deep and hushed.

“No!”

“Suck it up. Almost done.”

Oh that was beautifully articulated, really, because having a finger deep in his ass was an everyday occurrence. And for an entirely different reason, definitely not because Steve was starting to really get down to business, scissoring his way around hunting for the little bugger, rather the sensation of something vibrating incessantly against his notch of pleasure, that Tony found himself arching deeper into the mattress and swallowing all the sporadic moans that were threatening to get out.

Steve wasn’t sure if his own dick was hardening because of Tony’s obvious reaction to his ministration, or because it had been ages since his last release.

Amidst the roar of their carnal wants and needs, Steve’s finger inadvertently brushed against what felt like a tiny bit of metal, foreign to his touch. Focused to the task at hand, he curled his finger to pry it out, unintentionally pushing it hard against the prostate – he’d guessed it must’ve been – because Tony almost leaped out of the bed as he cried out for Steve.

Then a look of pure horror and shame marred his features and Steve couldn’t find the strength in him to pacify the scientist. He’d dug deeper, harder, with purpose and Tony writhed around him, eliciting moans of pleasure and pain that soon turned to begging for release, but not the kind that Steve was envisioning in the heat of the moment. 

“Please, Steve…”

Steve himself was leaking at the tip, so was Tony, and which each prod more seeped out, and Tony’s pleas were getting harsher, laced with desperation.

"Stop..."

Steve, with all the burden in the world, strained to look squarely at Tony. He was flushed red, feverish, and his lips were quivering, but there was wetness in his eyes as he pleaded repeatedly.

It finally came loose. With one last scrape Steve had the device stuck to his finger pad and he dug it out, but all faded into unimportance when Tony climaxed, his body undulating, his dick a glaring red mass spewing semen in multiple bursts all over his lower abdomen. Steve only came to realise how his voice had become hoarse – too much crying, too much begging – and he watched on, utterly lost as the tension in Tony’s form subsided that he’d rolled over to his side and burrowed his face into the mattress.

Neither moved for what felt like the longest of minute until Steve walked into the bathroom. He turned on the shower – icy cold – and just stood there. As rivulets of water ran down his wrists he remembered how close he was to pinning Tony down for good and taking him right there and then. 

How close he was to losing himself. 

He poured body shampoo into his hand and realised the stupid thing that he got out of Tony was still stuck to his palm. It was a capsule – and with all the audacity in the world was still capable of vibrating in his clutch – and when he broke it open with a gentle squeeze, he looked at the electronics that were now sprawling on his hand. He wasn’t as good an engineer as the highly-likely-to-be-traumatised professor just a few strides away, but he knew enough to tell that the complexity of the circuit was superfluous to be just an innocent vibrator.

Steve didn’t like the way his stomach curdle at the revelation.


	5. Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide

A newfound panic gripped Steve that he quickly towelled himself dry and almost forgot to put on his pants in his haste to get Tony to confirm his suspicion. If what he thought was true, then _tick tock_ , they had to haul ass _right now_. He slid the glass door open with too much force it almost shattered, and he half-stumbled into the bedroom. Despite the ear-splitting ruckus Tony remained exactly where he was, lying prone on the bed, unmoving, his eyes blown and fixated at a spot on the far wall. 

Steve backtracked into the bathroom to gather a face towel. 

The cold, calculative part of his brain dictated him to pack up, grab Tony and run. He eyed the electronic bits of the vibrator that he’d laid by the sink as the towel he held under the tap soak up the warm moisture. The human part of him though realised there’d be loads of recovering to be done that night. And explaining. Try as he might, there was no way to erase what’d just transpired, and if not for the unadulterated dread that was growing in the pit of his stomach, there might be just enough space for guilt. He wrung the towel dry and reached into his pocket. _Think, just think_ – and he pulled out his phone. 

He dialled 999.

“ _Talian kecemasan: sila maklumkan tujuan untuk panggilan ini._ ”

Oh, God. 

“Police, please. Is this the police? I’ve a crime to report.”

Do people speak English around this corner of the world? 

“What is your current location, Sir?”

God bless.

“Pullman Hotel, Bangsar.”

“What crime do you wish to report?”

Steve already had a story lined up. He took in a shuddering breath hoping it’d sounded like a self-calming one and half-stammered out, “I think – no, I’m sure that someone had drugged my friend, and did _something_ to him. I brought him back from a store room of some sort. I don’t think he’s hurt, but I need help.”

“Do you require immediate medical attention?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Stay where you are, Sir. A patrol unit has been despatched and is currently heading your way.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “OK. Thank you.” He hung up and silently hoped that this gambit would pay off. Steve scooped the towel and bits of the vibrator, and exited the bathroom. By now Tony was sitting up on the bed and had recovered some of the colour in his cheeks. He took the proffered face towel wordlessly and started mopping up his forehead. 

“I need you to take a closer look at this.”

Steve uncurled his fingers to reveal the scattered electronic bits on his palm. Tony took one glance at it and the shock was enough to distract him from cleaning himself, shock that quickly morphed to disbelief, and Steve didn’t like the way his expression darkened.

“No, no. This can’t be right…”

Steve grimaced, “A tracker?”

“Yeah.” Tony looked up at once. “What’s it doing in – I mean I don’t –”

“Now look at this.” Steve whipped out his phone and searched for the message that’d directed him to the store house where he found Tony earlier that evening. “Did you send me this?” It was a curt one, containing only an address, signed off with a “Please hurry.” Tony gestured for his pants and Steve collected it from the floor. He fished for his phone from one of the pockets and studied the message log. 

“It was sent out from my phone, no doubt in that.”

“But did you send it?” Steve pressed on testily.

“No.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. Steve started hurling their strewn around belonging into his bag. Tony didn’t wait for further instructions. He quickly dressed himself and helped clear the bathroom of their toiletries, and did a quick sweep of the room to ensure no vital documents were left behind. Almost like an afterthought, he slipped both their passports into his pocket. He limped around searching for his laptop and realised – belatedly – that his kidnappers had actually taken his sling bag. 

“What?”

Steve was surveying him impatiently, catching Tony gape morosely at the coffee table. 

“They got my sling bag.”

“The one you brought to the meeting?”

“Yes. Doesn’t matter,” he shook his head dismissively, “most of the stuff on the reactor tech are stored on a private server anyway.” He looked pointedly at Steve. “They’re _not_ after the reactor tech, are they?”

Steve resumed pulling clothes from the wardrobe. “No.”

In under ten minutes most of their collective possessions were a messy heap in Steve’s luggage. Steve wasn’t generous with explanations and Tony didn’t plan on asking for any, not yet, not wanting to stall their progress. The fact that somebody had taken him and sent a pick-me-up to Steve from his phone only meant one thing: a trap. But for whom? If their objective was him, or his work, they already had him where they wanted. Defenceless, alone in that God forsaken store house. If they wanted Steve, they’d succeeded in luring him out. All they needed to do was wait until Steve show up to collect him.

Neither happened. So what was their end game?

And someone rapped on their door twice.

Unsettled, they exchanged a brief look before Steve cautiously peered out of the peephole. Tony half-expected someone to fire a gun right through it, through Steve’s eyeball like a sick scene of _Final Destination_ but Steve nodded curtly and pulled the door open, so Tony guessed whoever it was on their doorstep was legit. A man wearing a rather genial expression, dressed in a white polo T-shirt bearing the crest of the hotel on his breast smiled kindly at Steve. But he was abruptly shoved aside to admit a group of four of – judging by the arrays of gang tattoos adorning their arms – thugs. One of them was Eurasian, and he closed the door unhurriedly behind them. 

“Steve Rogers. How good to see you here.”

He made for a handshake which Steve didn’t take. The soldier held himself warily, his eyes icy as his fists curled dangerously by his side.

The man turned his attention to Tony who was standing shiftily by the bed. With a grin, bestial that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he asked no one in particular, “And how do you find Malaysia so far?”

“Who are you?” Steve demanded.

“You don’t, and won’t know who I am, Rogers. But you know who I represent.” He settled himself graciously in the corner armchair. Then he pointed a finger squarely at Tony and said, “Take him.” 

The other three nameless ones swarmed over him in a second. One had roughly pulled his arms to his back, locking them in place while the others secured a leg each, pinning him down almost spread eagle waist-down to the bed. He began to curse in protest when the man that was trapping his ankle – opportunistic as he was – pushed a handkerchief into his mouth.

“Don’t touch him!” Steve moved towards him, but the Eurasian held him back. Tony caught a glint of metal pressed against Steve’s side, that of a short blade’s. 

“Give me a reason, and _I will_.”

 _Come on, disarming one guy can’t be that difficult_ , Tony found himself praying, but when Steve kept his silence and dropped his fighting stance, Tony felt even more helpless than he ever was.

“Frankly I’m a bit disappointed,” the man began conversationally. “A man like you Rogers, should know better. These… _anchors_ , emotional attachments… they’re weaknesses. They only hold you back. And people like me, well, we look for weak points like this in men like you. And we show no mercy.” He re-sheathed the blade. Tony mentally prompted Steve to tackle the man to the ground, disable the threat, _something_ , but Steve stood resolutely still. “This boytoy of yours is something else though, isn’t he?”

Tony’s eyes widened at that. He shook his head from side to side as hard as he could. The man who’d had him by the arms tightened his grip and Tony winced. A little bit more and he could’ve easily dislocated a shoulder. Steve somehow had gotten his breathing under control. _He could be planning something_ , Tony resorted to comforting himself, _he must be_ , because God help them both, he didn’t want to know what was waiting for them at the end of this talk.

“You took Tony this evening. Then you gave him back. Why?”

Steve was stalling. Steve was definitely planning something. Tony had got to believe in that.

“Bait. I want _you_ , Rogers.”

“You texted me with his phone, knowing I’d come at once.”

“And you played your part beautifully.”

“Then why didn’t you take me then? That had been so easy.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be as much fun, would it? Obviously you’ve found the little present I hid in him.” He turned to Tony again, this time a hint of hunger playing on his face. “I only have to wait a little longer to know where you’re staying, and,” he looked up to Steve, “voila. I know your MO. You’d choose rooms with certain features. Window looking out to the open instead of another building to guard against spies and snipers. Emergency staircases within your vicinity for a quick escape. Soundproofing, just in case. So why, Rogers, would I not carry out my crime in a place as perfect as this?”

He stood up. Now standing shoulder to shoulder with Steve, Tony noted that this man was just as tall, but lankier, lacking the virility and built that Steve’s physique exude. Yet, there was still the noteworthy rigidity in his posture in the way he move – perhaps he too shared a military past like Steve? 

The Eurasian lifted a finger at Tony’s direction again, “Strip him.”

Tony didn’t quite understand the implication of that order, until the buttons of his shirt and pants were ruthlessly undone. He struggled more vigorously against their vice grips but to no avail, and his cries were all muffled by the handkerchief that was strategically pressing down on his tongue. He was completely, and utterly useless and at their mercy.

“I’ll give it to you, though. You have impeccable taste in men.”

The hair on Tony’s nape stood on ends as the Eurasian leered at his naked form. He crept closer to the bed.

“We were in a hurry just now so I didn’t quite get a close look, but Dr Stark, we now have all night to ourselves.”

His hands were callous, marred by lines of backbreaking labour where Tony didn’t doubt bloodshed and cruelty were implicated. When he leaned in, his lips hovering just within striking distance, Tony smashed his forehead horrifically against the man’s, the sickening thud of bone on bone drowned by an eloquent “Fuck!” Tony would’ve savoured the moment if not for a brutal fist deep in his stomach, followed up by a knee – his vision blackened for a split second as he swallowed back the burning acridity of bile.

“Rogers must’ve loosened you up here nice and easy,” the Eurasian spat, “seeing how he got the tracker out of you. We made sure we got it planted deep where it feels good for you faggots.”

Tony bit down hard on his handkerchief when he felt fingers intruding his entrance again. While Steve handled him with some form of care, this man was the least worried about causing discomfort, if any, Tony was certain he was doing his best to cause the most of it. Tony winced as fingernails scrapped against him, and he instinctively looked over to Steve, who could only watch the scene unfold in silent horror. His fists were still curled tightly by his side and his jaw was set, and he looked like if he could, he would’ve cracked the side of the creep’s skull with a vase – Tony bodily protested when the man attempted a second finger – then good God, just follow through with it!

“Bet you like to take it from Rogers like a good little whore you are.”

Tony didn’t understand why they kept harping about that, and it wasn’t true in any sense. He’d tell them they were wrong. He’d say it over and over again, over the agony in his rear until his voice go hoarse. A tiny part of him suspected that these people were gunning for Steve and he was just collateral, and the soonest that thought came to him he twisted his neck to look at Steve. The soldier’s gaze was almost apologetic, but that counted for shit didn’t it, not when someone was trying to rape him right here, right now and Steve had a chance to make a difference – 

God, how did it all came down to this?

The Eurasian hooked his arms under Tony’s knees and folded the legs to his chest. Tony fought against his restraints but they were unforgiving, and he bulked and kicked – but the man had learned his lesson and was taking no more chances, locking him good with vice grips. His muscles ached at the strain, he didn’t think he’d been bent over at angles like this since fourteen – and then there came a tell-tale push at his entrance. He stilled, and the rigid mass breached the rim –

There was a smart rap on the door again.

Tony exhaled shakily, and had enough presence of mind to be deeply grateful for the interruption. His heaving chest was the only movement in the room until the Eurasian haughtily instructed one of his men to look through the peephole. But Tony was still reeling in shock, and though he was aware that he was spared – for the time being – physically he was still prisoned by it. He was let go immediately, his limbs strewn haphazardly across the bed. Steve took the opportunity to pull up the discarded pants to Tony’s waist and slip his dress shirt on. And very quietly he mouthed, “I’m getting you out of here.”

The door opened, this time revealing a quartet of policemen in their deep navy uniform. A patrol unit possibly, and Steve couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief. The newcomers appraised all of them and remarked, “Is everything all right? We received a report –”

“Officers,” Steve spoke up, beckoning for the police’s attention. The Eurasian directed a sharp glower at him, but Steve met it with levelled gaze. “It’s my friend here. He’s gotten into trouble earlier this evening so I called for help.”

A lady in black headscarf came up to kneel beside Tony immediately. Sensing the tension in the way the scientist was holding himself, she grasped his biceps tenderly. “Can you walk? We’d like to take you to the police station to assist investigation.”

“For what?” 

The Eurasian had expertly schooled his prior arrogance into what Tony interpreted as a professional air of dismay. “It could be just a prank call made by someone from the building. Look, we’re having some really good time ourselves. Clearly there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.”

Steve kept his hold on Tony as the latter took measured breaths to steel his nerves. His shaking had stopped, and the lady policeman urged him to stand.

“Let me show you the way, gentlemen.”

Steve took Tony by the shoulders and together, they walked out of the room, their hearts pumping ferociously in their chests but they made it – in a few more steps they were clear of the perimeter and Tony visibly relaxed at the distance. His eyes searched for Steve’s, and a small smile tugged at his lips. Relief, gratitude, confusion – and terror – when a couple of gunshots rang in the air.

The policewoman pulled out her pistol, “Stairs. To the left. Now!”

Tony readily appreciated Steve’s expertise in military combat. Steve sheltered him with his own body whenever there was no cover, and he’d duck and check for obstructions before they took a corner. His grip on Tony was firm and authoritative, but there was a certain bout of composure in the way he was handling the situation. The policewoman was hot on their heels, covering them, the barrel of her pistol unwavering, aiming at anything unfriendly that were to emerge.

There was another gunshot and Steve shove themselves through the emergency exit. Three flight of steps down and Steve pulled Tony through another door and they charged towards the other end of the floor. If going by the view that the ceiling-to-floor window provided, Steve could be aiming for a side entrance.

“More cover,” he panted, and they pushed through another emergency exit.

The policewoman was no longer behind them.

Tony’s breathing catches in his throat, but he didn’t permit himself time to recover. He padded along vacated corridors and more staircases, his steps a tad clumsier than the soldier, but they both made it to ground floor. They emerged into a back alley – there was the clanging of pots and pans within earshot, so the hotel’s kitchen could be adjacent – and Steve patted his arm again.

“We need to go,” he strained.

They tried to flag a cab and got lucky; one came to a stop by the curb in less than a minute. The driver wasn’t using his meter but there wasn’t any luxury to nit-pick. Half-way through the journey when Tony had settled enough, he started worrying about having enough cash for the ride. He made to check his wallet – still stuffed snuck in his pocket, as were their passports – and was immediately thankful by the sight of a comfortable wad of Ringgit in it.

Steve had asked the cab to take them downtown. Like a gifted peddler of lies, he spun the most believable touristy tale that the driver gleefully reciprocated with suggestions of where to go, what to eat and who to meet. Eventually he suggested them both to put up at another five star hotel near Bukit Bintang – which his cab was now idling at its glamorous porch – and Steve paid him RM80 as he demanded. He waved the cab off despite knowing full well he’d just been ripped.

Tony wrapped his arms around his chest and made for the hotel’s entrance. Steve pulled him back a step.

“No. We’ll have to stay low for the next couple of days.” He licked at his chaffed lips and surveyed the foreign area a bit. “Come on.”

He reached out for Tony’s arm again and didn’t miss the passing flinch that seized Tony’s feature. He let his outstretched hand flop to his side and settled with jerking his head to the direction he intended to take. Despite the ghastly hours and the chilly breeze of the night the streets were still spilling with people. They chattered in languages both men didn’t understand, and they kept their chins tucked while avoiding as much eye contact as possible without appearing suspicious. At what looked like a random junction to Tony, they ducked away from the crowd and forged deeper into an alley. The few stragglers that were huddled by the clogged drain quirked an eyebrow at them and cat-called, but Steve marched ahead and kept his eyes on the road, so Tony did the same. They kept at the pace for close to 15 minutes and the adrenaline that was the only thing keeping Tony upright was beginning to wear away. He started lagging, widening the distance between them. Just when he thought he was going to lose the soldier at yet another junction, Steve turned around and took him quite steadily by the shoulders. His blue eyes sought out Tony’s, and they were tentative, as if that simple contact would burn as it did prior, but Tony remained quiet – or too far gone to care. 

And Steve never let go after.

“Just a bit more…”

Tony nodded, but said nothing.

Soon the bustling of the city quieted down as they emerged at the outskirt of Bukit Bintang. There were vacancies up at a shoddy looking motel plugged into the corner of a block, signified by a blinking sign made up of bendy fluorescent tubes. The walls were somewhat mouldy with paint peeling off where it was closer to the ground and pipes, and the windows were all tinted black. Steve didn’t like the general air to the place, and if going by the hesitancy scrawled all over Tony’s face neither did he, but they were operating on limited resources and wherever they could scrounge, they should. 

“We’ll probably have to stay hidden here for a couple of days. Is this fine with you?”

Something in him snapped and Tony shot him a dark look. “So now my opinion counts?”

“Tony –”

“We should get off the streets as soon as we can,” he said curtly, and walked past Steve to enter the motel. 

The rate was as cheap as the exterior and Steve had no problem paying off the deposit in cash. As they had no idea when they would be able to leave, he asked if they could pay on a day-to-day basis. The person manning the registrar – a middle-aged Chinese man with receding hair and gum line – said they could work with that.

As luck would have it, the motel had only two kinds of room – single, or king. 

Steve drummed his fingers on the unpolished counter as he pondered on the options. Given current circumstances, separating would be a terrible idea, plus they didn’t have enough money to pay for two rooms. But Steve understood that Tony deserved space of his own and he was thinking if he could ask for a single room and an extra cot, or maybe offered to sleep on the floor instead – but Tony interjected and asked clearly for a king. He completed the transaction – money and key swiftly exchanged hands – and they traipsed to their assigned room.

Steve wasn’t expecting a Pullman of course, and wasn’t very surprised to find it barely serviceable. The air-conditioner was loud and clunky, the TV had no reception and the bathroom looked like it could do with a renovation, and there was a lingering scent of cigarette in the air. 

Tony was half-leaning against the wall, right next to the door, his hand closing tightly over the knob. He regarded Steve with an even glare, the anger unmistakable behind the dark irises.

“You telling me what’s going on?” The click was pronounced when Tony flicked the lock up. “Why me? Or are they after you?”

Steve sighed sadly and seemed to chew on his tongue. He could only offer, “I’m so sorry.”

“Damn right you are! Start talking or I’m going straight to the police!”

Tony shook where he stood and grasped urgently at the wall for support. Steve made to steady Tony again but the scientist started at the proximity. This time it did dig painfully in Steve’s gut. Very slowly he edged away and sat on a corner of the bed. 

“What do you want to know?”

“How about who you fucking are? Really.”

Steve moistened his lower lips as he weighed his words carefully. “How I introduced myself to you from the beginning was all true. There really was a grant available for weapon R&D and I was sincere in offering you the opportunity to submit a proposal for it. I am part of the approval committee, though I represent the interest of the government – the Military side of the government, to be exact.

“But my primary assignment has always been scouting out the research scene – academia, industry – and monitoring progress done in the field. If things get too, ah, _interesting_ , we step in, before other people do.”

“Research done on what?”

“Weapons development and manufacturing, mostly. Biological, chemical, anything goes. Behavioural studies. Political analyses from different parts of the world. Anything and everything that could potentially be developed for criminal purposes. I ensure our side has a bird eye’s views on these things, ensure we’re always a step ahead of other parties. Naturally this job comes with enemies.”

“And what’s that got to do with me?”

“Your work on the reactor tech is deemed too dangerous to be let alone. In the wrong hands, it could be made a WMD. You as the creator described it best: it’s the ultimate battery. Imagine if one were to have the power to manipulate the energy sector. Imagine the impact on global economy for starters. And the provision of basic utilities to humanity in general?”

Tony scowled in disgust. “And you think I’d do such a thing?”

“No, you won’t, but this is bigger than you. First they will charm you, try to have you part with your patents willingly in exchange for money and reputation. If that fails, they’ll threaten you. They’ll take away your research opportunities, your position in the university perhaps. It’ll escalate to violence.”

“Like today.”

Steve sighed. “Yes. Partly.”

“Right,” Tony swallowed thickly. Colours were starting to drain from his skin but he stood as straight and steadfastly as he could. “Right, because they know you. Called your name. Probably know the name of your dog.” He looked away, and Steve squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“They’ve been a thorn in my side for as long as I’m at this job. Like I said, it comes with enemies. The information I have at my disposal? Priceless. They couldn’t buy over my allegiance. So they’re down to intimidation.”

“ _Intimidation_? That was a straight out murder attempt! So what, all this crap that’s happening to me right now is sheer misfortune by being here with you?”

Steve didn’t answer that, but it was enough telling. Tony gave out a nervous chuckle, “Oh God, I’m so fucked…”

“Calm down –”

“No, Steve! No! There are people out there trying to _kill_ us – how is any of this – no, no, no, we got to go to the police.”

“Tony –”

“Ask for help. Explain the situation. Get protection.”

Steve’s lips pressed tightly into a thin line. “I’m sorry. But we got to wait this out.”

All the things Steve just said ran through Tony’s mind in a blur. Suddenly he found it so silly that just yesterday evening he was worrying about perfecting his PowerPoint. It wasn’t fair. He was Tony Stark, Assistant Professor of Boston U, just trying to get some grants and keep the lab afloat. He was going to get published in Nature, possibly make a successful crossover to medicinal science and get that Howard Hugh award. He wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t _asked_ for any of it. Steve’s world was violent and manipulative and fucking confusing, as confusing as the way the shoddy room spiralled and caved in beneath his feet. Steve was at his side in an instant, worry etched blatantly on his features. 

“You need to rest. Here, let me –”

“Don’t – stop touching –”

“Just let me help you –”

With the last ounce of strength Tony could muster he held Steve back against his chest. Sounds were but a muffled whisper in his ears, and the room a passing shadow. He knew he was fading, but he ground himself to the wall, to the floor, and forcefully forbade himself from falling. His vision closed in around the periphery and he stilled, focusing instead of the hardness of the wall against his back.

“They drugged me with… things…”

Steve knew that. Steve knew what Tony needed medical attention. He doubted it was anything lethal – case proven in point – but with four murderous thugs prowling the street looking for blood, going straight to a hospital would just light up beacons. And Steve couldn’t risk that. Tony himself had never once brought up the need to go to one either, but it was evident that his deteriorating condition warranted a look-after.

“Are you hurting? How are you feeling?”

Tony slipped an inch along the wall and Steve held him tighter around the elbow. “I think they gave me sedatives? I can’t… quite think. It’s all fuzzy up here,” he waved a shaky hand around his head. “And I think… Viagra?”

Steve promptly looked down and there it was, the painfully obvious tent in Tony’s pants. Hesitantly, Steve asked, “Do you…?”

“God, no. No, no.” Tony let out of heavy breath and his eyes slid close. He sunk completely into Steve’s waiting arms and moved no more, finally heeding the call for oblivion. Steve picked the scientist up and settled him gingerly on one side of the bed. He hoped the sleep could while away the effects of the drugs, and the next best thing he could do for them both at the moment was a fresh change of clothes and some warm food. 

But Steve allowed himself a minute. He sat down on the carpeted floor and kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. The minute this was over, he swore to disappear from Tony’s life for good. 

Yet another life ruined.


End file.
